


[ACTIVE - IN WORK] — The Scars We Hide

by crystymre



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Denial of Feelings, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Escapism, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Healing, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Lavender Brown Lives, Legilimency, Night Terrors, Past Lavender Brown/Ron Weasley, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Ron Weasley Bashing, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:29:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 52,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22167157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crystymre/pseuds/crystymre
Summary: Seven years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Hermione Granger reluctantly returns home to speak at a remembrance ceremony.In an effort to avoid her ex-fiance, Ron Weasley, she finds herself in the company of Draco Malfoy. Learning that she can be her truest self around the former Slytherin prince, she escapes the pressures of being the Golden Girl... but at a price.Irrevocably bound to what was supposed to be a three-day affair, Hermione must learn to cope with her trauma and heal the scars she hides.
Relationships: Astoria Greengrass & Draco Malfoy, Astoria Greengrass/Blaise Zabini, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger & Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Lavender Brown/Neville Longbottom
Comments: 253
Kudos: 793





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aristaraven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aristaraven/gifts).



✣ ✣ ✣

Draco Malfoy stood in the queue at the Ministry of Magic, waiting for his number to be called. 

Miraculously the numbers before his, and several after, had all been called, but his number had conveniently skipped for the third time that day. Not that Draco was surprised in the least. He was hard-pressed to find a Ministry worker willing to help him no matter which side of the pond he was on. 

Even seven years after the war, the simple act of being himself seemed a crime. The ring, the robes, the hair, his very presence creating an awkward tension wherever he went. This being the case, the second he set foot into the passport office, workers with names he recognized freezing at the sight of him. 

Luckily, he’d made sure to put a cushioning charm on his dragon skin shoes before leaving his home that morning, expecting that British bureaucracy, even when it wasn’t actively working against him, was insufferably slow.

If he had been there for any other reason, he would have made the spectacle worth their time, throwing in a classic sneer for old time’s sake. But his business was urgent, and he would not be dissuaded or tempted to prove himself every bit the monster they believed him.

Instead, he delved into the Prophet’s most recent edition, glossing over the societal pages in lieu of quidditch scores and the crossword. Since he’d requested the Daily Prophet’s weekly issues be delivered to his new residence, he had never _not_ finished a crossword. It had become as much a part of his morning routine as his tea and rowing.

Waiting in the queue for the fourth time around, he heard a commotion behind him. A quick glance towards the elevator and suddenly the buzz made sense. The clerks rushed to tidy their stations as men straightened their ties, Hermione Granger’s name floating into the room.

Heels clicked across the atrium, the already palpable suspense spiking to new heights as she neared the department door. Sights set back on the counter above his head, three numbers until he was to be ignored for the fifth time, he tried to block out the chattered whispers around him. 

“Still can’t believe she disappeared like that,” one woman gossiped. “After everything, she left _him…”_

“Ran to Australia allegedly,” another chimed in. 

“She’s become bloody frightening,” the man in front of him said in a low tone, glancing over his shoulder. 

“Rumor is she is an Unspeakable now.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me.”

The room went quiet as Hermione politely cleared her throat upon entering. There was no doubt that she had heard them, guilty minds knowing they’d been caught. Minds whirled with fluctuating thoughts ranging from respect and admiration to fear and apprehension. Her ability to command the attention of a room made him chuckle inwardly, thankful that all attention had been turned to her rather than him. 

“Malfoy?” 

He’d barely registered the voice that cut through the stifling silence, confident that it couldn’t be directed towards him. 

“Are you ignoring me?” 

It took him half a second to realize that it was _her,_ speaking to _him._ How long had it been since he’d heard her voice? 

_Seven years,_ he reminded himself; that was the point of him being there after all. 

Hermione’s voice wasn’t as high pitched as he had remembered. It’s swottiness all but gone. It was like velvet, pulling at every memory he’d ever had of her. Bossy. Know-It-All. Swot. Golden Girl. War Hero. Brightest Witch of Her Age. Insufferable—

“Draco Malfoy,” she snapped, an inexplicable chill running along his spine. 

“Yes, Granger?” He acknowledged her with a slow drawl, watching the counter—two more numbers to call.

“Is there a reason you’re ignoring me?” Hermione’s question wasn’t the incessantly shrill and demanding timbre of days past. Rather, he detected a hint of playfulness beneath the matured octave. 

“Is there a reason you’re speaking to me?” he countered, ignoring the unspoken comments of those around him. “Surely you’ve been told how uncouth that is lately?”

“Still on that pureblood superiority propaganda?” 

Playful indeed. 

“That propaganda died seven years ago when your bestie snuffed out the Dark Lord. Or do you not remember that?”

“How _dare_ you?” the man in front of him turned around and shot him a look. “Do you know who you are speaking to?” 

_Lousy Death Eater._

_Just like his father, this one._

_Should’ve gotten life in Az—_

**_Don’t listen to them, Draco._ **

“Oh, I am well aware,” Draco shot him an exaggerated grimace as though the man were a small child. 

Hermione continued. “Haven’t seen you since—”

“Graduation,” Draco finished her sentence. 

“I was going to say Diagon Alley a few years back. With Astoria, I believe. How is she?”

“Married to Blaise,” he stated flatly, any emotion he should have felt on the subject officially dead.

“Astoria Zambini,” Hermione said, an equally indifferent tone. “Not as magniloquent as Malfoy.”

“She was many things. Magniloquent was never one of them.”

“Miss Granger?” One of the clerks waved at her, offering her the opportunity to cut the line. There were at least ten people before him. None of them seemed bothered in the slightest by it.

“Quite alright. I’ll stand in the queue with everyone else,” Hermione announced from the back of the room. 

“It’s really no problem, Miss. I doubt anyone would object to letting Hermione Granger have priority,” the clerk said, others in the room nodding and humming in agreement. 

_“I_ object to it,” she said curtly, her voice lowering an octave. 

_There she is,_ Draco thought, memories of their years together at Hogwarts coming to the forefront of his mind. 

“I am no more important than the rest of you. My time is of no more value.”

“But—”

“I appreciate the offer,” Hermione sighed with an edge to her voice. “Do let your superiors know that you tried.”

 _Not here… not now… breathe…_ Hermione’s thoughts cut through the white noise only he could hear. Draco could _feel_ her agitation roll through her, a clear image of her staring at the same letter he’d received playing over and over again.

Deciding that his time in the queue had been rather dull thus far, he opted to push her buttons; see if he could find the root cause of her less-than-characteristic mood. “Not going to cash in that golden ticket, Granger?” 

“Not today. Not for something so menial as acquiring a pass to apparate into Hogwarts grounds.”

“Surprised you don’t have private floo access,” he feigned haughty indignance. “What, with the old bat being Headmaster.”

 _“Headmistress_ McGonagall had the floo’s shut down altogether when they rebuilt,” Hermione said pointedly. “Vanishing cupboards as well.” 

Her words cut through him. Cheeky and hurtful. 10 points to Gryffindor. 

“341,” the clerk called. Draco had one more to go. 

“Rumor says you’ve been running amuck with the Kiwis,” he shifted subjects. 

“Aussies. Don’t play dumb, Malfoy,” she bickered in a voice that sounded eerily similar to his late mother’s. “It’s below you. Besides, I know for fact, the peanut gallery’s chatter tends to be accurate on that particular fact.”

“You do realize your muggle colloquialisms are all but lost on this crowd?”

“Yes, well, a person shouldn’t be rude,” her words were clipped.

“Sure you can. I do it all the time,” Draco mused. 

“I had _forgotten_ they voted you Miss Congeniality.” Draco could hear the eye roll in her words. 

“How did you know my favorite Sandy movie?” he teased. 

“343,” a different clerk called, the man behind Draco cutting ahead of him in line. 

“Four minutes of banter, and I’ve distracted you.” Hermione mocked him. 

“Don’t give yourself that much credit,” he growled, splitting from the line to take yet another ticket. 354. 

Stealing a glance at Hermione, he was admittedly surprised by how much she’d changed. Her childish features had become more feminine, more mature than he had remembered. Sporting a rich tan, her eyes glittered in contrast. Her wild sun-kissed coffee hair had tamed some, the frizz he remembered now a bundle of soft curls.

“So they skipped you?” Hermione asked, her voice suddenly righteous. 

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Granger. Eventually, I will be the last man standing, and they’ll have no choice but to address me.” He took his new place in line behind her, noting that he stood a full head and a half taller than her now. 

Draco would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that she looked good. He’d had a slight crush on her at one point, namely for her know-it-all competitive attitude, but he never could have guessed she’d grow up to have such sex appeal. Ron Weasley was a daft git for letting her go. 

“Well that’s not--” she began, turning towards him. Realizing that they were no longer the same height, she looked up, her hardened eyes softening as she unsubtly took him in. “--fair.” clearing her throat on the last word, a red hue hinting at her cheeks.

 _Gods, he’s like a tree… a very fit tree,_ her voice echoed in his head, forcing him to repress a sly smirk.

“Ah, welcome to being on the wrong side of the war,” Draco smirked, the woman in front of her shooting him a dirty look.

Void of any noxious perfumes, Hermione naturally smelled like a library. A musty scent of parchment and grasses with a subtle hint of tuberose; not at all unpleasant and not the least bit unexpected. Uniquely her own, it was both comforting and sensual, scratching at the part of his brain that found the aroma of knowledge inherently sexual.

He pulled himself from his thoughts to focus on the present, boxing away that bit of information for later. He pushed it to the back of his mind right alongside his questions of how soft Hermione’s hair might be and how undoubtedly un-single she likely was after all these years. 

“First of all, don’t ever assume you have any effect on my knickers,” she snapped, not forgetting his earlier comment. “Secondly, I simply won’t stand for this.”

“Of course, you won’t.” Draco rolled his eyes. “Elves, centaurs, Malfoy’s…”

“Come on.” Hermione grabbed his hand, dragging him towards the front of the line, disregarding looks from others.

“It’ll do you no good,” he cautioned her, noting how warm her hand was around his. 

“To hell, it won’t. What’s the point of being me if not throwing my name around in the name of injustice?” Her question was scathingly sarcastic, something clearly having ticked her off before her appearance in the department.

“This is simply a matter of people lacking manners, Granger. Not equal rights for house-elves.”

“Excuse me,” Hermione said, cutting into an empty window as they were about to call the next number. “There seems to have been a mistake.”

“How may we help you, Miss Granger?” The clerk smiled pleasantly, dimples, and teeth on display in the hope of placating her.

“By helping Mr. Malfoy here,” she demanded, pulling him into view of the clerk. 

The clerk cleared his throat, adjusting his tie once more. “Ahem, yes. What are you needing?”

“Permissions to apparate and disapparate to and from Hogwarts for the duration of the remembrance ceremony,” Draco rattled clearly and concisely. It was a sentence he had repeated to multiple officials in multiple countries for months since he had received his invitation via owl. 

“Do you have—?”

“Forms.” He held them up. “Signed. Witnessed. Notarized.”

“And—?”

“Permission slip from MACUSA.” Draco held up another parchment. 

The clerk held out his hand impatiently, ripping the documents from Draco’s while falsely smiling at Hermione. Giving them a quick glance, his face soured. “Application denied.”

“Excuse you?” Hermione asked before Draco could open his mouth. Her grip on his hand tightened.

“This form was dated yesterday, as you can clearly see here.” The clerk waved arbitrarily at the parchment. “Mr. Malfoy will have to—”

“I would like to see your supervisor,” she cut him off. 

_Absolutely absurd… they wouldn’t behave this way were he anyone else…_

“It’s fine, Granger. I’ll simply _walk_ there.” Draco attempted to lighten the tension, pushing the clerk’s thoughts out of his mind. “I’ve heard cardio is quite good for the heart.”

“No. It’s not _fine,”_ Hermione snapped. “I would like to see your supervisor or manager or whomever it is that trained you,” she demanded, turning back to the clerk.

_No professionalism whatsoever…_

The clerk stepped back, motioning to the woman at the window next to him. “Miss Granger is asking for your assistance,” he said, clearly irritated. 

“Ah yes. Good morning, Miss Granger.” The heavier bespectacled woman smiled, unaware of Hermione’s smothering saintliness that was about to befall her. “Always lovely to see you. What may I help you with?”

“There seems to be a misunderstanding—”

“Let it go, Granger,” Draco growled in her ear. “I’m quite used to this, I assure you.” 

“You shouldn’t be.” Hermione’s umber eyes narrowed on him. He recognized the look: the classic Gryffindor fire and determination. “I would appreciate it if—”

“Miss, while I appreciate your empathy towards Mr. Malfoy, my department simply will not permit him transportation rights to Hogwarts. Surely you understand?”

“I don’t. Care to explain it to me,” Hermione’s eyes dropped to the nameplate at her station. “Mrs. Prewitt?”

The woman lowered her voice despite the room being deathly silent, all ears attentive to the conversation. _“He_ let _them_ in.” Her eyes darted to Draco’s.

_Would have killed Dumbledore…_

_...Coward._

**_Don’t listen to them, Draco._ **

“Under coercion.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It most certainly does,” Hermione bit back. 

“Only those with alumni status are permitted to apparate onto the grounds for the duration of the event,” Prewitt stated, looking down her glasses at Hermione.

“Silly me,” Hermione said, tipping up onto her toes to gain the height advantage. “But I am _positive_ Mr. Malfoy both attended and graduated from Hogwarts. I should know. I was there.”

“Being awarded a diploma while on house arrest is hardly—”

“I was awarded my diploma in absentia. Does that mean I’m not an alumnist?”

“No—”

“So why should Mr. Malfoy’s status be any different?”

“You’re not _him,”_ the clerk said through a strained smile.

“I’d certainly hope not,” Hermione deadpanned, earning a quick chuckle from Draco.

“I cannot in good faith allow a Death Eater—”

“Acquitted,” Hermione snapped, her humor gone. _Oh, I rather don’t like her…_ The grip around his hand continued to tighten, memories of days past flitting across her mind like articles in the newspapers.

 _“Former,”_ Prewett snipped. “Death Eater permissions to attend an event mourning the lives of the people he killed.”

Rage rolled from Hermione’s tiny frame. _“Draco,”_ his first name sizzled on her tongue, “didn’t kill anyone.”

“He could have.”

“Are you sure this is the hill you want to stand on?” Hermione’s voice was lethal. “If so, I would be more than happy to call Kingsley down here. Let him tell you about the Wizengamot’s trials where _nearly_ every member of the Order testified on Draco and Narcissa’s behalf, to include myself and Harry Potter.”

A tidal wave of thought came at Draco from every which direction, headlines from the weeks and months following the war still fresh in everyone’s minds. 

“Mr. Malfoy was acquitted by the Wizengamot, the International Confederation, and the Supreme Mugwump,” Hermione stated, reeling her rage back in. “I helped see to it. Your refusal to let him attend this event insults all of that work.”

“Acquitted doesn’t mean innocent.” Prewett tried to stand up to Hermione. “My issue is not with you, Miss Granger. It’s with him. Again, while I can appreciate the merits of your argument, I cannot let him—”

Hermione held up a finger, silencing the woman. “What forms do I need to submit for my authorization to apparate?”

“You have no need for forms, Miss Granger.” Prewitt’s irritation was palpable. 

“You won’t grant him permissions, but you’ll make me the exception to the rule?” Hermione’s brow arched.

“You’re Hermione Granger. You are free to transport, however, and wherever you please.”

Hermione spun, yanking Draco’s hand along with her. “Get your department in order.”

“I’m sorry?” Prewitt called after her, fear escalating.

“Come on, Malfoy. We’re done here.”

“You are bloody terrifying,” he whispered loudly, her nails digging into him. 

Hermione suddenly stopped, Draco nearly slamming into her as she turned back to Prewitt. “It really is shameful that you would try to deny him access to the ceremony. We’re here to mourn and honor the dead. You should find some perspective.”

... _His friends and family died there too._ Hermione’s thoughts pierced him.

Hermione turned and led Draco towards the lift. “You’re off your rocker, you know that? Threatening to sick Shacklebolt on her?” he said in disbelief.

“Why should they give me special treatment but deny you basic courtesies?” She huffed, dragging him onto the lift. Finally realizing that she had been holding his hand throughout her righteous fury, she quickly let go as though he had burnt her, trying to disguise both the physical and mental blush. 

Draco pointed to her, “You: Granger. Me: Malfoy. Pretty self-explanatory.” 

“Well, I’m sick of it,” she huffed, impatiently pushing the button to the main floor repeatedly. “Free dinners, special privileges, people going out of their way to be nice… or worse yet, because they fear my connection to Harry and Kingsley. Nevermind my work directly with Akingbade or any of the other accomplishments since I left this miserable country...” she muttered with disdain, her finger unrelenting. “I need a drink.”

“Must be awful,” he rolled his eyes. Draco couldn’t tell which she was more upset over: the supposed injustice towards him or the fact that they held her upon the golden pedestal that was her earned namesake. 

“It becomes old,” she said frantically, smashing the unresponsive button. 

“Wouldn’t know,” Draco reached across her, smacking her hand out of the way before firmly pressing the button once, causing it to light up.

Hermione froze as his arm grazed hers, inhaling slightly before shaking her head out of her thoughts. _Leather… spice… Get a grip, Granger,_ she mentally chastised herself, adrenaline on high from the fight she’d thrown herself into. “They really ought to go back to vocal commands,” Hermione huffed, crossing her arms.

“Wasn’t this one of your initiatives?” Draco smirked. “Muggle integration?” 

“If Harry could have simply remembered who worked in which department—”

“Ah, blaming the Chosen One. How _un-golden_ of you,” Draco’s eyes flashed. 

“That, right there.” She spun on him, pointed a finger in his chest. “Golden Trio. Golden Gryffindor. Golden blah-blah-blah. Sick of it. I renounce my accolades.”

Draco let out a wholehearted laugh, causing her glare to morph into shock. “Who pissed in your pumpkin juice this morning?”

“I’ve been back for two hours. Two,” Hermione held up her fingers. “Have you any clue how backward this place is? Acting as if the war was last week and not seven years ago. It happened. It’s over. It’s time to move on.”

“I _shall_ be sure to tell the families of the deceased that tomorrow.” 

“You know what I mean, Malfoy.” Hermione swatted at him. 

“Sure don’t.” He stepped into her space as the lift opened on the main floor. “Not all of us are living that high life anymore.”

“Yes, well.” Hermione’s face dropped, her eyes scanning his body once more, the determined rage behind them dying. “Meet me here tomorrow morning then? Eight-ish? I’ll side-along you since I’m apparently free to do whatever in the hell I want.”

“I can find another way—”

“Even if I believed you, I doubt my performance back there will have helped matters any.” Hermione bit her lip, a glimmer of guilt crossing her sun-kissed face. “I didn’t intend to jump in like that. I just… it’s been a long day, and that... the way they handled things… I suppose it set me off.”

**_Seems we all have our triggers, Draco._ **

“Eight works for me,” he said, knowing she wouldn’t take no for an answer. “And I have done far more egregious things to embarrass myself than argue with a clerk.” Draco’s sly smirk spread despite himself, quickly taking her hand to place a kiss on her knuckles. 

_Soft…_

“Thanks for the show.” He dropped Hermione’s hand, silver eyes locked on her. “Valiant effort on your part. Can almost guarantee Prewitt will never hear the end of the day she refused the Illustrious Hermione Granger.”

Hermione sighed, the corners of her mouth quirking upwards in amusement. “You could not?” 

“But it’s simply too much fun.”

“Eight,” she said pointedly. 

“I shall be dressed to the nines.” Draco gave a sweeping faux bow. 

“It’s a memorial,” she reminded him as though he didn’t remember why he was there. 

“Yes, but who wears black better than me?” He grinned, catching the vibrant blush that had washed over her face, turning on his heel to walk away.

 _He’s not wrong…_ images of himself from their 6th year flashed through her mind. His suits, his hair, his teeth... the way she would catch his eye in classes or across the Great Hall... the ache she felt when she learned his truth, that Potter had been right all along... 

“Stay out of trouble, Malfoy.”

“Right back at you, Granger." His voice echoed. 

Hermione stood in the lift, watching Draco disappear into a nearby floo. Everything burned: her face, her hand, her scar, her core… Determined to ignore the latter, she collected herself, breathing deeply as her brain processed what had just happened. She had just stood up for Draco Malfoy of all people, rather viciously at that. Hermione controlled her breathing, counting in fours as she tapped her fingers to her thumb, resisting the urge to pick at her scar. 

She laughed aloud to herself, realizing the absurdity of the situation, before going to hunt down the one person she’d come back to see.


	2. Chapter 2

✣ ✣ ✣

Somehow in the course of fifteen minutes, Hermione Granger had chewed out a department official on Draco Malfoy’s behalf, made plans to escort him to the memorial, and let him kiss her - albeit it, on the back of her hand. She had expected many things upon her return, none of which involved her suddenly very fetching former Slytherin schoolmate. 

Confident that he was gone, she rushed to the closest loo, splashing water on her face. When had he grown so tall? And his voice… silvered and smoky. Still refined, still mannered… simply matured. Ever the sarcastic prat that she remembered, there was something light about him now. Humored wit with a scent that caught her off guard. Leather, spice, and clean autumnal rain. 

Hermione’s head spun. 

_Focus,_ she told herself. 

Tapping her fingers to her thumb, she worked through the flood of emotions overwhelming her. _One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four..._

“Breathe,” she said aloud, attempting to calm her anxiety and adrenaline. 

Hermione hadn’t meant to get so spun up. Malfoy or not, the clerks were simply being rude and uncooperative. He had filled out his forms. He had waited his turn… repeatedly. They simply wouldn’t help him because of who he used to be.

 _You prepared for this._ A bark of laughter escaped Hermione’s lips, pressing the palms of her hands into her eyes. _You prepared for Ron…_ **_not_ ** _Draco Malfoy._ No amount of affirmations and rehearsed speeches could have readied her to run into her former school bully. Who last she saw, was a haunted shell of himself. _This_ Draco was something else.

_Strategically unkempt hair, sultry smile, dazzling teeth, and that unfairly alluring aroma…_

Hermione buried the feeling resurging in her core to the furthest depths she could. Malfoy was Malfoy. It was as simple as that. While he had clearly curbed his Muggle-hating aristocratic tendencies since their time at Hogwarts, they hadn’t so much as spoken since the events at his manor.

Hermione reached for her pocket, the weight of her calming tonic inside her extension spell calling her. Heavy and warm. _No. Use it when you need it._ She groaned, splashing more water on her face, ignoring the draw to her potion and the itch of her scar. 

“Get it together, Granger,” she exhaled, drying her face. “Day’s just started.

She had more significant issues to worry about than this new Draco and his intentions. Chances were, after the ceremony, she wouldn’t see him again. 

“You’ve got this,” she spoke into the mirror, thankful that her concealing charm was still disguising the bags beneath her eyes. “You helped take down one of the greatest dark wizards in history. You can handle seeing your friends.” After a few more deep breaths, she willed her legs to leave the women’s room. 

“Hello, Hermione,” a singsong voice came from the lift she had just abandoned. Hermione turned to find Luna Lovegood approaching her, leggy and ethereal as ever.

“Luna,” Hermione said, relieved for the genuine smile that spread across their faces. “How have you been?” The two hugged as though no time had passed, like they had seen each other frequently rather than the seven-year silence between them.

It hadn’t been intentional. Like so many others Luna and her father disappeared shortly after the trials. She hadn’t been around for the rebuilding of the castle, nor had she been seen at any of the reunions. For all intents and purposes, Luna had all but fallen out of existence. Xenophilius’ name would occasionally appear in articles Hermione ran across in her travels, noting that he was a freelance writer for American publications.

“Better than you, it would seem,” Luna said, studying her face. “You seem quite frazzled.”

“That’s one word for it. Are you in town for the ceremony?”

“Yes,” she said, drifting away towards the floos, Hermione having to follow her. “Quite lovely what Headmistress McGonagall has put together.” A soft dreamy smile spread across the blonde’s face. “How did you find South Africa?”

Hermione should have been surprised that Luna knew of her most recent travels, but Luna always had a tendency to know things. “It was wonderful. More of a holiday than a business trip.”

“And Panjin?” Hermione froze. No one knew about that trip. “Forgive me,” Luna apologized. “My father tends to keep up with you three.”

“How is he?”

“Happier,” she said with a light in her eyes. “If you are ever in Wappingers Falls, you should stop by and say hello. I am sure he would appreciate a visit without Death Eaters coming to destroy his home.”

Hermione flinched, her fingers tapping against her thumb. 

“You have a tick,” Luna observed. “How interesting.”

“What do you do, Luna?” Hermione asked, switching subjects quickly.

“A little bit of this. A little bit of that,” Luna smiled. 

Hermione always found Luna as equally striking as she was odd. Seven years and she had grown into her features, angelic and mystifying, never unkind. “I should go, so you can avoid everyone staring at you right now.” 

Hermione glanced over Luna’s shoulder, noticing the crowd that had begun to grow in the hallway. “We should have tea while I am in town.”

“That would be lovely. Perhaps you could invite Draco so that I could ask him if he’s ever spotted a Crumple-Horned Snorkack in the states?” Hermione didn’t know which part of that sentence confused her more, a buried memory of the obscure creature trying to surface. “I saw you just before you ran into the ladies’ room,” Luna offered an explanation for at least one half of her request. 

Hermione blushed. “I’ll ask.”

“Have a good day,” her melodious voice flitted away as Luna approached a floo. 

“Good day,” Hermione waved with her right hand, if slightly less than enthusiastically, her mind trying to wrap around the flood of feelings. _One, two, three, four,_ she tapped her left fingers to her left thumb. _One, two, three, four… What did she mean states? The United States?..._

“Hermione?” An all too familiar voice came from the crowd. Today was going to give her both mental and emotional whiplash. She looked up to find Harry stepping out from the crowd of Ministry workers. 

“Harry.” She smiled as he went in for an awkward hug. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him face to face. Unlike Draco, who looked fresh and alert, Harry was the opposite, as if he’d aged ten years in her absence. Dark circles under his eyes, an errant gray or two in his unruly and untamable hair, his tired mother’s eyes. Fatherhood was more taxing than she had imagined. 

There had been a time after she’d moved to Australia that Harry would come to visit, spending the odd weekends in her cramped apartment. She’d crossed paths with him once in the field, managing to catch a brief lunch at a pub in Belgium. Even then, he had begun to look worn but not nearly as much as he did now. 

An unsubtle murmur crept through the crowd, not unsimilar to what she’d heard in the passport office. “Upstairs?” Harry asked, letting go of her.

“Yes, please,” she thanked him for the reprieve from their audience. Harry motioned for her to follow him to a nearby floo, it leading directly into his office. 

Hermione hadn’t seen the inside of Harry’s office since he’d received his position as a junior Auror, his and Ron’s internships spanning the time she had been busy helping reconstruction efforts. It was cluttered chaos at its finest. Awards haphazardly hung on the walls. Stacks of paperwork he’d likely never get to. Assortments of candy stashed all throughout. Equally messy, if not more so, than their dorm room had been at Hogwarts. 

Pictures of the DA, Marauders, and Order hung behind his desk with pride. A framed photo of him and Ginny on their wedding desk sat beside an image of a thrilled James Severus Potter, cooing and sucking his thumb.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Harry said, hugging her again. “It’s been what, four years since you’ve been back?”

“Five.”

“You look… great.” He flashed a smile that calmed her anxiety. “How’s the department?”

“Quiet. A lot of overturn, so I’ve been training new Breakers steadily,” Hermione said. Harry was one of the four people who knew exactly what she did for the Ministry. While Hermione found the rumor of her being an Unspeakable humorous, they weren’t entirely off their mark. After having helped Harry and Ron hunt down and destroy Horcruxes, she realized that she had a knack for it. The career of Curse Breaking often leading to various impossible puzzles that forced her to dig deep into ancient runes and use arithmancy on a daily basis.

When Headmistress McGonagall had sat her down to ask what she planned on doing now that she, and coincidentally Draco Malfoy, scored Outstanding on all seven subjects on her N.E.W.T’s Hermione had thought for sure she was going to become a healer. Minerva had hoped she would take over the Transfiguration teaching position. Harry had thought Hermione would want to become an Auror. And Ron assumed she would take some safe filing position within the Ministry, such as Prewitt’s, so that they could settle down and have children. 

It wasn’t until her second trip to Australia to check up on her parents that Hermione overheard two officials there discussing a rather hexed book from Japan that had made its way into their department. Casually offering advice on the wards that she had built to contain the Horcruxes as they were destroyed, and how those wards would be much more practical for a simple hexed novel, the two officials let her tour their department. 

A department that she quickly became the head of following her sudden departure from Britain. 

While she was allowed to discuss her job, she found it simpler if she didn’t. Often traveling, nose frequently buried in books, Hermione preferred a solitary lifestyle of hunting down ancient relics and destroying the darkness within. 

“You ever end up taking that vacation you wrote about?” Harry asked her, offering her a sugar quill, Hermione politely declining. 

“No,” she answered. “Perhaps one day I will surprise everyone and take all of my holiday leave at once.”

“And how many days would that be?” he eyed her. 

“About six months worth,” a hint of guilt caught in her words. She’d been told by her boss, and her boss’s boss, that she needed to take her vacation time. Needed to get out of the books and enjoy life.

“Care to donate that? Pretty sure I am taking time off unpaid at this point. What with Ginny and the baby…”

“How is James?”

“Brilliant. Truly. Must get it from Gin.”

“Does he still look like you?” Hermione had only seen James once, then a few more times in photos sent to her. 

“Unfortunately,” Harry smiled. “Has his mother’s eyes, though.”

“A common Potter trait then.”

“Are you here for—”

“Just the ceremony. Then back to Australia.” 

“You know you’re more than welcome to stay with us. Plenty of room.” Harry smiled, his brows furrowed into worry.

“I appreciate it, Harry. I really do. I wouldn’t want to impede with Ginny and—”

“It’s been five years. She misses her friend.”

“I miss her too.”

“You know you’re both the most stubborn women I’ve met?” he smirked. 

“Dinner, maybe? So long as—”

“Ron doesn’t come around often anymore,” Harry cut to the point. “Spends most of his time at the shop or out—”

“Whoring?” Hermione clipped snarkily. “I still get the papers.”

“He’s calmed down some. Usually goes a month or two between girls,” Harry’s face twisted. 

“I highly doubt that,” Hermione’s eyes narrowed. 

Harry paused, considering his next words. “Are you ever going to forgive him?”

“Would you?” she asked quietly. “After what he did?”

“He thought—”

“He thought wrong!” she snapped. “He _drugged_ me, Harry! For months! Doesn’t matter why he did it! And then to prove his point, he turns around and marries _her?!”_

“I’m not excusing any—”

“It lasted what? Four months before he started cheating on her too? I never particularly cared for Lavender, but she didn’t deserve that.”

“What I’m trying to say, Hermione, is that it’s not good for you to keep this all pent up like you are. I barely mention the bloke’s name, and you throw a tantrum. Can’t be good for your health,” Harry said as compassionately as any person could. 

Hermione exhaled. “I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I’m a bit wound up today. Honestly, it’s been quite a whirlwind since I arrived. My brain is _frazzled,”_ she recounted Luna’s earlier comment.

“Are you seeing anyone?” Harry asked her, redirecting the conversation.

She blinked. “What?”

“Well, I know when Ginny gets all _wound_ up like this sometimes I’ll make it a point to hire a sitter and—”

“Harry James Potter, don’t you dare finish that sentence!” Hermione shouted, covering her ears. “James is a gift and a blessing. But you are like a brother to me, and I won’t stand to hear about you and Ginny’s shagscapades.”

Harry burst out laughing, his boylike charm more prevalent than ever. “Sorry,” he laughed. “I just thought since you’re only in town for the weekend and literally anyone and everyone will be here for the ceremonies that maybe you find someone to—”

“Shag?”

“Well. No. Not exactly,” Harry paused. “I’d hate for you to show up stag to the victory ball. Unless maybe you’ve brought someone with you from Australia?”

“No, Harry. No someone.” She could hear the defeat in her voice.

Harry surveyed her. “Have you dated at all since… ?”

“A few times. Nothing long term.”

“And?”

“And what? I work too much. I travel too much. I read too much. Pick an issue, and I am sure that it’s the source for many of the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’s.’”

“Surely there is someone out you that is as much of an insatiable bookworm as yourself?”

Hermione smiled softly. “World’s a big place, Harry. Haven’t quite traveled all of it yet.”

A knock came from Harry’s office door, his secretary poking her head in. “Mr. Potter, Mr. Jordan is here to see you.” She glanced at Hermione briefly. “Miss Granger, lovely to see you. Heard you made quite the ruckus downstairs.”

“Yes, well,” Hermione’s eyes skirted the floor. “I should get going if you have a meeting,” she said to Harry. 

“See you tomorrow?”

“Bright and early,” she smiled. Hermione began to take her leave, opting to use Harry’s door as she had one more stop on the same floor. 

“Oh, Hermione,” Harry shouted after her. “I completely forgot. I have a rock one of my guys found.”

“A rock?” Hermione’s brow arched in amusement.

“Well, a _cursed_ rock. But yes. A rock. Small boulder, really. More than a stone—”

“Harry?”

“Right. Our Breakers here have no idea what to make of it. I was thinking maybe you could take a look at it should we plan that dinner?”

Hermione chuckled. “I would be happy to take a look at your _rock,_ Harry.”

“Thanks,” he smiled.

Hermione exited his office, the door shutting behind her as she ran smack into Lee Jordan. 

“Hermione?” The man’s eyes went wide, taking her in. 

“Lee?” she asked excitedly. “I haven’t seen you in—”

“Come here!” Lee swooped her up into a hug. “You turned out to be a right fit bird, didn’t ya?”

“Oh, hush.” She punched him in the arm playfully.

“Fred and George always did say you were far too attractive for your own good.” He flashed her a bright smile.

“What have you been up to?” 

“Married. Two girls. Just selected to announce for the Quidditch World Cup.” Lee wraggled his brows. 

“With _your_ mouth?” she laughed. 

“What can I say? It’s a spectator sport. Lemme know if you ever want tickets. M’ sure it would be nothing to squelch some for Gryffindor’s Golden Girl.” He smiled proudly. 

Hermione’s heart dropped. “Yeah. Thanks. It was good to see you, Lee. I should get going.”

“Sure thing, Hermione. See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” she muttered, walking out of the Aurors offices. “Can’t wait.”

✣ ✣ ✣

By the time Hermione dropped off the paperwork she had intended for the Department of Mysteries and made it to her inn, she was flat exhausted. Utterly underwhelmed by the current state of things, she took a moment to stare at the ceiling from her lumpy bed. Dusty. Musky. Sticky with ale. The rooms at the Leaky Cauldron hadn’t changed one bit. 

She hadn’t had much of a choice as to hotel accommodations, having decided to attend the ceremonies the week prior. The fact that the Cauldron was both out of the way and unfavorited by most people she knew was an added bonus. She would suffer with her lumpy bed rather than have her peace interrupted those that would throw laurels at her feet.

_One, two, three, four..._

Her emotional rollercoaster had her at her ends. She had mentally prepared herself for the onslaught of niceties and questions upon her return. She had been vigilant in practicing her breathing exercises. Had brewed extra calming draughts just in case. It had been months since she’d had her last panic attack. Weeks since she had hyperventilated. She wasn’t about to come undone in front of her entire past life over the course of three days. 

As much as she hated it, and as much as she hated Ron for it, the fact was simple: she was the Golden Girl. People looked up to her. Respected her. Expected greatness. She didn’t get to panic. She wasn’t allowed to cry.

 _You’re Hermione Granger. You didn’t crack then; you don’t get to crack now._ Ron’s less than motivating speech still plagued her thoughts.

 _One, two, three, four,_ she counted her fingertips as she pressed them to her thumb, over and over again, a relaxation technique that had become a habit. _Pinky, ring, middle, index, pinky, ring, middle, index, one, two, three, four…_

“Screw this,” she said, sitting upright, burying his words alongside the images she refused to remember.

Rolling out of the awful bed, she pulled a change of clothes out of her beaded bag before splashing water on her face in the small sink. Looking herself over in the cracked mirror, she reapplied the smoothing charm to her hair and the concealment charm to her under eyes. Just because she was planning on drinking in a dive pub didn’t mean she shouldn’t appear as though she didn’t care.

Pulling on a pair of flattering jeans and a fitted white blouse, she stashed her bag under her pillow and her wand into her extended back pocket. Giving herself another once over, she inhaled deeply, settling her nerves, before heading downstairs. The bar was relatively quiet considering the reunion that was about to take place, two older women drinking brandy in the corner and a disgruntled house-elf sweeping what were impossible to clean floors.

“Ogdens,” she asked the barkeep, whose eyes went wide at the sight of her. “Make it a double. And some chips, please.” 

“Going to need more than chips to offset a double, Granger.” Draco Malfoy’s voice came from beside her. “Unless you’re _trying_ to get drunk.”

Hermione turned to find Draco casually leaning up against the bar, dressed more casually than she had ever thought possible. A slow smirk spread across his face as she took him in, sweeping up his jeans that hung just-so to tattoo-covered forearms partially covered by his dark green henley.

Draco had been wearing traveling robes earlier that day, modestly covering what was clearly an impressive build. Now Hermione stood, fixated, watching his tattooed sleeves of smoke that held hidden shapes. Runes of at least four different ancient cultures seemingly swirled in the gray shades of the ink. She blinked, certain she saw a snitch appear for the briefest of seconds.

Her eyes fell on his dark mark. Had she not known to look for it, she would have missed it, angry clouds of silver and black fogging over the cursed snake just long enough to disguise it before fading away. Hermione had seen similar effects in various magical artwork around the world, namely art depicting werewolves. In truth, it was as beautiful as it was sad.

Draco motioned to the bartender, asking for a glass, snapping her out of her trance. Her eyes flitted from his forearms to his biceps, watching the way his muscles moved beneath the fabric of the sweater, how his body flexed as he pushed off the bar. 

Harry’s inappropriate advice echoed clearly in the back of her mind.

Draco’s eyebrow rose as he caught her staring, causing her to blush deeply as she snatched her glass. “When in Rome,” she raised her glass symbolically, shaking off thoughts she knew better than to have.

“London. I know you took geography in primary,” he teased her. “Why, I bet you can name every country and every capital in alphabetical order.” 

“And backward,” she mused, her head physically tilting upward as he stood.

_He wasn’t this tall at Hogwarts…_

“The swottiest of achievements,” he laughed, the sound pulling at her core. “Care to join me, Granger?” Draco pointed to one of the boothed alcoves that shadier patrons frequented.

Hermione studied him for a moment. While he had mocked her heroism earlier, it had been just that, mockery. He was the least likely person to ass kiss, brown nose, or otherwise idolize her. 

He was also the least likely to inquire about her feelings on her and Ron’s falling out, or ask if she ever planned on getting back together with him. She doubted she’d get the same speech about how she and Ron were “destined for each other” and how “they fought a war together, surely they could stick it out” that she’d received upon arrival. 

“Fine.” Hermione agreed, following him towards the alcove. “Bugger me, though, and I will hex you from here to Hogwarts.”

Draco stepped aside, motioning for her to sit first. Hermione scooted into the circular worn leather booth, sticky with dried alcohol. Draco set his glass on the other end of the half-moon table, keeping a modest distance before sliding into his side with grace.

“So, what brings you here?” Hermione cleared her throat, deliberately ignoring how wide his arm span was.

“Same as you, I suppose,” he said, bringing his glass to his lips. Hermione couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes watched her as he did so. Even in the dim lighting of the seedy pub, she could see how they moved like mercury. 

“No pubs in the posh end of wizarding London?”

“There are. Much cleaner ones.”

“Again, why here?”

“To antagonize you, of course,” he smirked, his dazzling sultry smile. 

There was nothing unattractive about him. Of course, there never had been, physically anyways. Hermione had always thought of him as a rich, pretty-boy, even before he’d taken the mark. Her eyes fell on it again, watching the maelstrom of tattoos ebb and flow as he drank his whiskey.

“As you’ve seen for yourself, I’m not exactly popular around these parts anymore. This is one of the last places that truly doesn’t care who they serve,” Draco paused. “To be a socialite without society.”

“You still buy into that?”

“No, not particularly. But no one cares what my opinions on the topic are. They’ve weighed and judged me. If it weren’t for my money Id be little more than a disgraceful footnote in the annexes of the war. Whereas _your_ name would be on the front cover just below Potters and just above the Weasels.”

Hermione could feel her face twist at the comment.

“It really does strike a nerve with you, doesn’t it? The titles they’ve given you?” Draco asked, sipping his firewhisky.

“More than you know,” she said, staring into her glass. _One, two, three, four..._ her hand slowly tapped beneath the table, preemptively pushing down her anxieties. She knew Draco hadn’t meant anything by it, but then again, no one ever did...

The bartender approached with a basket of oversalted chips, placing it down between them. He eyed them both and shrugged, walking back to his post. 

“Thanks again, for earlier.” Draco redirected as if sensing her agitation at the subject. “For what you said in the Ministry.”

“I do mean to have a word with their department head at the very least. Absolutely appalling how they treated you.”

“This world doesn’t deserve you, Granger.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Always sticking up for the little guy.”

“You are far from little.” The words tumbled out, a blush racing across her face at the insinuation. 

“Good to know my reputation precedes me,” he chuckled. “But tell me, had things turned out the other way, had Potter died… do you think the clerks would have treated you anymore justly than they treated me?”

“Well, that’s assuming that there still was a Ministry and—”

“You’re thinking too far into this. What I’m getting at is what you saw today was simply evidence of how the world works. Were the tables turned—”

“You wouldn’t have stuck up for me?”

“In this hypothetical universe where Potter died? No,” he said honestly, taking a drink. “Assuming, that is, I hadn’t been killed or ran away.” He inhaled deeply, not unlike the way she did when she had to calm her nerves. “No, the war forced me to grow up. To think differently. Had the results been different, I couldn’t guarantee I wouldn’t have fallen into ranks making daddy dearest so very, very proud.”

“You wouldn’t have,” Hermione said softly, her eyes locked on his. 

“You seem sure of that.”

“I saw your face that day at your manor,” she said quietly, unsurprised at the way he flinched. “Nothing about it suggested that you’d like to become a crazed homicidal maniac.”

His face dropped, mercury eyes becoming hardened steel. After half a heartbeat, he blinked out of whichever thoughts her words had sent him to, a soft smile pulling across his lips. “Again, this world doesn’t deserve you, Granger.” 

Behind them, the door opened, the bell atop it jingling softly as a handful of people piled in. 

“Any big plans while you’re in town?” Draco asked, shifting the subject. “I assume you’re just visiting?”

“You assume correctly. Just here for the event. Speaking of which, would it be simpler to meet here every morning or—”

“Just tomorrow, Granger. I’ll only be attending the memorial.”

“Really? But the Heroes Luncheon and—”

“While I’m sure you’ll look radiant decked out in the mountain of medals they’ll undoubtedly give you, I highly doubt I’d be welcome to that or the ball the following night.”

“Don’t be daft. That clerk didn’t know you. Prewitt barely knew you. Everyone attending knows you beyond your name.”

“Which is all the more reason I’ll be unwelcome.”

The door jingled again, another few patrons walking in out of the unusually balmy September evening, a familiar redhead among them. “Oh bloody hell,” Hermione muttered, shrinking into the alcove. 

Draco feigned a gasp. “Are you and the Weaselbee on the outs?” he asked in faux ignorance.

“Prat.”

Ron stumbled up to the bar, his long disheveled mop looking as though it hadn’t seen a comb in ages. With sunken eyes and a nose two shades brighter than his hair, Hermione didn’t have to be anywhere near him to know that he was sloshed. A state which, explained by Harry in one of his earlier letters, Ron was constantly in.

She slouched down further, scooting to the middle of the booth, hoping he didn’t suddenly spot her with Draco Malfoy of all people. Although...

“Actually, I didn’t know,” he replied. “Been a bit busy not living in the ethereal glow that is war-herodome.”

“There’s no glow either,” Hermione shot him a dirty look. “Has he spotted me?”

“Unless you are down the back of that slags throat, then I would say no?” 

“Ugh.”

“Rather thought you’d be jumping for joy to see the Weasel. Two-thirds of the trio back together at last.”

“Shut it,” she snapped, quickly casting a disillusion spell over them. 

“Right, right. Hermione Granger, jilted lover, Weasley breaks off engagement.” Draco reiterated one of the many gossip headlines that had come out before her departure. 

_“He_ didn’t break off anything,” she snapped, trying to keep her voice down. “Jilted lover, my arse.”

“But he _did_ propose?” Draco asked, curious.

“Have you any idea how horrifying a public proposal is?” Hermione spun to face Draco fully. 

“Humiliating enough, you break it off with the tosser and move to Australia for five years?” He raised an eyebrow to her. 

“Thought you didn’t keep up with the gossip?” She eyed him.

“Only the important stuff,” he flashed her a smile. Hermione went to question the statement, deciding to drop it instead. “So. What did the Weasel do? Besides, publicly shame you with what I am sure was an offensively small ring?”

“ _That_ wasn’t why I said no,” she rolled her eyes. Taking a drink of her firewhisky, she inhaled. “We were young,” she started. 

“Ah yes. To be nineteen and not just twenty-four,” Draco smirked. 

“Nineteen is far too young to settle down and start popping out babies,” she glared at him.

“Were you?” Draco’s demeanor darkened some as he let the half-asked question hang in the air. 

“Pregnant? God’s no. Not for lack of him trying.” Hermione mentally glossed over the details of _how_ he’d been trying.

Draco shook his head. “Thanks for the visual. Was trying to vomit tonight.”

“It was always about babies. Marriage, babies, and shagging.”

“Well yes, shagging does typically lead to those things,” he bit his bottom lip, suppressing his laughter.

“That was all he ever wanted to do!” Hermione exclaimed as quietly as possible. “Poorly I might add.”

“You continue to shock me, Granger. Who knew the Weasel wasn’t a sex god?” Draco asked. Hermione, choking on her whiskey with an amused smile. “Can’t entirely blame him, though. For not being able to keep his grubby little mitts off of you...” 

Hermione’s eyes narrowed at the comment. 

“Don’t eye me like that, Granger. As if you don’t own a mirror. I’d have tried to tie you down, too, were I him.”

“Was that… was that a compliment?” she asked, both confused and taken back. 

“Malfoy’s don’t do compliments,” he smirked, taking a long sip of his whiskey.

Hermione turned, seeing Ron grabbing onto a woman she didn’t recognize, shoving his tongue down her throat.

“You mean to tell me you let _that_ kiss you?” Draco teased in her ear. 

“I was young. What did I know?”

“You knew everything,” his voice was low in her ear as she continued to watch Ron maul the poor girl. “Being a know-it-all was your thing.”

“There wasn’t a book on _that_ ,” she shuddered, turning back to Draco. 

“There are many, in fact. Writers make loads on selling you ladies’ romantic dreams with half-dressed muscle-bound men,” a low chuckle came from the blond. “Tell me, how are those Australian men?”

“Flighty,” she shrugged.

“No Mr. Granger waiting for you back at the homestead? Keeping watch on the kangaroos?” Draco laughed, earning a pointed glare from Hermione. “We both know the bloke would take your name.”

“No. No Mr. Grangers or otherwise. Hasn’t been for at least a year.”

“Merlin. You mean to tell me you haven’t had a decent shag in over a year? No wonder you’re so spun up.”

“How is this any of your business?”

“It’s not. I just like to see if I can get under your skin.”

Hermione agreed with the statement. “You would.”

“Now what’s that supposed to mean?”

“That you’ve made it a practice of irritating me ever since first year. That you get some kind of sick thrill out of it.”

“Suppose you’re not wrong. Was always fun to make you miserable. Bossy swot,” Draco recounted his earlier words. “Had to knock you down a peg or two.”

“Yes, well, thanks for that,” she bit sarcastically.

“Was infuriating watching you be right all the time. Be better. Smarter,” Draco threw back his whiskey, ordering another. “Then you had to go off and get all… grown. Pissed me off, really.” Hermione reached up and began to inspect his head for knots. He smacked her hand away. “What are you doing?” he snapped.

“Checking to see if you hit your head on your way in. The Malfoy I know hates me.”

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you that hate is a strong word?”

“So’s mudblood.”

Draco flinched. “Yes. Well, if you define yourself as stupid at nineteen, I certainly can define myself as that at twelve.”

“And thirteen, fourteen, fifteen—”

“Quite all right. I get your point.”

“And what is your point?”

“That we were children. Made poor decisions.”

“From what I seem to remember, your decisions weren’t yours to make,” Hermione’s voice was low. 

“Nevertheless,” Draco leaned in, lowering his voice. “We make poor, blinded, choices. Thinking we know everything.”

Hermione blinked. “Someone has grown up.”

“Some days,” Draco smiled. “Never did properly thank you. For you speaking at my trial.”

“I wasn’t the only one.”

“No, but you were the one that mattered.”

“Harry spoke—”

“Potter wasn’t tortured—” he cut her off, his eyes dark. “Nevermind.” Beneath the table, Hermione’s hand twitched. _One, two, three, four…_ she counted off to stop the crawling feeling that slowly crept up the inside of her forearm. “You Gryffindors and your righteousness,” he muttered nearly to himself. 

“You saved us,” she said, just loud enough for him to hear. 

“Don’t know that that’s what I did.” His eyes fell to her left arm as though he could see what she was doing beneath the table, the itch that began to fester over old wounds.

A burst of laughter came from the now-crowded pub, startling both Draco and Hermione. “You sure the Weasel isn’t secretly a sex god? He’s got two rather fit birds on each arm now,” he inclined his head towards Ron. 

“I can assure you, he’s _not_ ,” she growled, downing her glass before snatching his. _So daft he couldn’t find my clit if I drew him a map..._

Draco let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “What?” she asked him. 

“Thinking.”

“Dangerous for you,” she smirked. “What about?”

“How unlikely it is that we found ourselves in each other’s company trying to avoid everyone we’ve ever known for the exact opposite reason. Were I a lesser man, I’d use that to my advantage,” he spoke truthfully.

“A lesser man?”

“Mmm, yes. But I’m not.”

“And the advantage?”

“Purely sexual,” he said with a sly smirk, causing Hermione to nearly spit out her drink.

“Malfoy!” she swatted him with the back of her hand.

 _“Were_ I a lesser man, Granger. Do pay attention.”

“But you’re not? Lesser?”

“Have I ever been?” Draco’s eyes gleaned at the twofold implication. 

“I suppose not. The Malfoy I know both hates me and would likely sooner shag a hippogriff than myself.”

“Do _not_ bring that foul winged beast into this.”

“Have you still not gotten over that?”

“Don’t know that I ever will,” Draco said playfully.

“I rode on Buckbeak once.”

“Who?” Draco asked, confused.

“Hagrid’s hippogriff. Right after Harry and I saved it from execution.”

“I knew Potter was involved in that!” he exploded. “My father was livid!”

Hermione couldn’t contain her laughter. “We had to go back and save Buckbeak! I mean really, we went back to save Sirius but—”

“Wait. Sirius? Sirius Black?”

“Where _were_ you third year?”

“Being slapped by _you,_ if I recall right.”

“Yes, well, you deserved it.”

“You’re not wrong, Granger.” Draco tapped their glasses to refill, one of the better charms in the Cauldron. “Wait. You said you went back?”

Hermione bit her lip, realizing her mistake. “Well, I suppose it isn’t relevant any longer…”

“Out with it.”

“I used a time-turner given to me by the Ministry to go back with Harry to free Sirius and Buckbeak,” she rambled out her confession.

“You had a bloody time turner?!”

Hermione bit her lip guiltily, “Profes… Headmistress McGonagall gave it to me so I could keep up with all of the available electives.”

“THAT’S HOW YOU DID IT!” Draco roared, shock and jealousy written across his face. “All year, all I heard was, ‘Why aren’t you taking more classes than her? Why is Potter’s Muggle friend scoring higher marks than you?’ Have you any idea how impossible you were to catch up to?”

“You were trying to catch up to me?” she asked, not realizing that it had ever been a competition.

“Of course, I was. Wasn’t about to be shown up by—”

“A mudblood?” Hermione cut in, realizing why it was a competition. 

Draco’s expression dropped. “I haven’t said that word since he died.” Hermione didn’t need to ask who the _he_ was. “I truly am sorry.”

“It’s in the past,” she said, unsure how to take the apology she had once hoped for. Beneath the table, her hand twitched. 

“No. It’s not,” Draco looked over, his eyes trained on her left arm. “Not for some of us.”

_One, two, three, four…_

“Granger.”

_One, two, three, four…_

“Granger, look at me.” Hermione looked up, his steel eyes boring into her. “I know a simple apology won’t undo years of history between us, but please believe me when I say that I no longer hold my father’s beliefs. The things that I said to you, that I did to you… unforgivable. My family and I put you through hell. My aunt… well, you never deserved that. Even when I thought I hated you, you never deserved that.” 

Hermione thought she could do this. Thought she could return to Europe and survive three days without panic. Without anxiety. Drinking with Draco had seemed safer than the alternative. Safer than her drinking alone. Like she always did. She had thought he would provide a distraction. 

“I know we’ve barely spoken in years, but if there is anything I can do, anything to try to set things somewhat right, you let me know. I know it will never make up for what happened, and I know I don’t deserve forgiveness, but I can’t leave this pub tonight without telling you how truly sorry I am.”

_Maybe he wasn’t distraction enough?_

_Breathe,_ she told herself. Playing with the glass in her hand, she stared at Draco thoughtfully. Perhaps he and Harry were right; she _was_ wound up, too tight likely. She should be able to have a simple conversation without wanting to scream. She needed to unwind if she had any hope of making it through the celebration.

Hermione continued to watch him, an unknown version of someone she used to know. He was relaxed, dressed in Muggle clothing, covered in ink, easy to talk to… insufferably good looking. 

It wasn’t as though she couldn’t go out and find a bloke for the night, use him as stress relief just as she had her handful of shags in Australia. Chances were, though, like any of the wizards she had been with, that they would only want to talk about her time in the war or her time spent as one of the Golden Trio.

 _Malfoy isn’t a stranger,_ a part of her mind cut in. _He is arrogant, gorgeous, has_ **_all_ ** _the necessary parts..._

“Could you be a lesser man?” Hermione suddenly, surprising both herself and the blond sitting across from her. 

Draco eyed her, trying to decipher her meaning. “Sorry, what?”

“For one night?”

“Granger…” His eyes narrowed, realizing what she was asking. 

“You’re here. I’m here,” Hermione began to rationalize her question. “We’re both consenting adults. Both single, unless you’ve misled me?”

“I haven’t.”

“Good to know.” Hermione ignored the relief that came with his admission.

Draco shifted in his seat. “Granger, while I won’t deny that you are undeniably—” he cleared his throat, unintentionally giving her a once over. “I don’t think you understand.”

“I understand completely, Malfoy,” Hermione snipped. “Don’t insult my intelligence.”

“I’m not. I’m questioning your decision-making process.” Draco scooted closer, his knee dangerously close to touching hers. “A tad redundant but: you Granger, me Malfoy.”

“What are you implying? That because of your history I shouldn’t find you fuckable?”

“Do you?” he asked with a raised brow.

“Quite,” she responded without hesitation. 

“Good to know.”

Hermione shook her head. “You’re not the person you were then. You’ve grown. Matured.”

“You don’t know who I am,” he said darkly. 

“I know that if you were even a semblance of who you used to be, you wouldn’t be entertaining this conversation. Let alone drinking with me.”

“And how do you know it’s not part of my ploy? We Slytherins have a reputation for such deceitful things. We pride ourselves on the long-cons.”

“Your refusal to bed me, is that part of your ploy?” Hermione’s brow arched skeptically.

“Let me be perfectly clear,” Draco said, slamming the last of his firewhisky. “I have thought, quite vividly, mind you, of thrusting my cock inside you until you scream my name for longer than you might imagine. This is not a matter of refusal. Was I that lesser man, and had I not been taught manners, I would have already apparated us back to your room. You are without a doubt the most fuckable woman I have ever met, which only adds to the supreme satisfaction of knowing my cock would make you forget not just the Weasel’s name but your own as well.”

Hermione blinked, feeling her blood rush, her nerves spark to life. “Ah, there’s the Slytherin in you,” she said with a smirk, trying to ignore her body’s very physical reaction to his blunt words. 

“No, that’s just my personal distaste for him. The self-serving Slytherin side of me, as you put it, would try to woo you with such scandalous sentiments of me setting the bar so high no other bloke could hope to reach it after I’m done.”

Hermione shivered at the thought, her core on fire. She was unsure if it was the proximity with which he sat next to her, his scent, or the fact that talking with him was both the most compelling and intellectual conversation she’d had in months, but she found herself squeezing her thighs tight. Unwind indeed...

She focused on controlling the flush that had surely spread across her face. “But you’re not trying to woo me?”

“If I were, you’d know it,” he practically purred.

 _Traitor,_ she screamed at her body. 

“And you’re not refusing me?”

“I’ve done a great many foolish things, Granger, but I’m not such an idiot that I would ever turn you down.”

“So, what are you doing then?”

“Waiting for you to tell me why.”

“Why what?”

“Why you’d have me be lesser for one night?”

“I thought I had made it pretty obvi—”

“No, you’ve been quite clear as to what you want. I want to know why.”

“Why?”

“Is it revenge against the Weasel? A desire to know if my arrogance is well placed? Or simply a yearning to itch that ever carnal scratch?”

_If only it were that simple…_

“And if I didn’t want to tell you?”

_...that all I want is to forget. To not think about Ron, or the war, or Harry...that I want to be un-golden if even for an hour...to walk into the memorial tomorrow with a secret all my own...that I might not have nightmares tonight…_

“I just want to ensure that the firewhisky isn’t fueling something you’ll regret in the morning.”

Hermione erupted with laughter, an unrefined gut-bursting bark. “Sorry, I just,” she kept laughing, struggling to make full sentences. “So… chivalrous,” tears began to run down her face. “Sorry, sorry, sorry… I was just in my head, and then you said _that.”_ Hermione’s laughter eventually began to die down, taking deep breaths to calm herself. 

“Quite done?” Draco asked, a hint of a smile at the corners of his lips. 

“Yes, sorry,” she wiped an errant tear from the corner of her eye. “How about this: should I suddenly decide for whatever reason that I regret my actions or that you were subpar—” 

“Doubtful,” Draco scoffed. 

“I will simply hex you, and we never have to speak to one another again,” she finished. 

“No boils. Or slugs,” Draco warned. “Or whatever you did to Marietta Edgecombe in fifth year.”

“Marietta _deserved_ that, and you haven’t any idea how high my standards are.”

“Well, I couldn’t possibly be any worse in the sack than the Weasel over there,” Draco pointed out to the pub they were hidden away from, the group of girls gathered around him. “And you _dated_ him.”

“Please don’t remind me,” Hermione said, draining her drink. “Let’s go. Don’t think I can stand to be in the same room as him another minute longer.”

“My place or yours?” he asked her, noticing her freeze at the suggestion. “I’m staying at a hotel downtown. Far from that prat. Fabulous breakfast menu.”

“You’re assuming I’m going to spend the night,” she said, sliding out of the sticky seat.

“You’re assuming that you’ll be able to walk,” he growled, his silver eyes flashing. Draco stood, transfiguring the jacket he had brought with him into a fitted coat for her, stepping close to wrap it around her shoulders. “Should I forget, you ought to know how divine you smell,” he said, staring down into her umber eyes. “I’m willing to bet you taste just as sublime.”

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, unable to formulate any witty comeback. Snapping it back shut, he rested his hand on the small of her back, escorting her out of the disillusionment charm into the crowded bar. Keeping her head low so as to not be spotted, the two made their way to the back exit.

“Was that Draco Malfoy?” she overheard one of the girls ask as they walked past. “And Hermione Granger?”

“Not possible,” Hermione heard Ron say as the door closed behind them. “Uptight bint would never be spotted at a pub.”

Draco held out his arm for her to take, him pulling a black card from his jean pocket. He gave it a flick before they disapparated to his hotel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has read so far! I am truly humbled by your guys' comments. As I wrap up other long-running WIPs you should see more updates on this piece <3 
> 
> For those who care to follow you can find me @crystymre on Twitter and cmdunaway on Tumblr


	3. Chapter 3

✣ ✣ ✣

Hermione blinked, eyes and stomach adjusting to the new location. Years of apparition and portkeys, she still found herself nauseous every time. Looking around to get her bearings, she wasn’t at all surprised at how sleek and posh his hotel suite was. It all but screamed Malfoy money, as if his family had designed the hotel. _Did his family own the hotel?_ It occurred to her at that moment, standing awkwardly beside him, that she knew next to nothing about him. After graduation, he disappeared, much like Luna. There had been rumors, of course. And she had run into him that one time. But as she searched her memory, she couldn’t for the life of her remember _what_ it was he did. 

“Drink?” he asked, cutting into her thoughts as walking towards the bar on the far side of the living room, not missing a beat out of his apparition. 

“Water?” she asked, her throat suddenly dry. She heard him chuckle as he disappeared into what she assumed was a kitchen. Hermione walked over to the far wall, floor to ceiling windows with a view of downtown London. With exception to the light that filtered in from the streets below, the only other thing illuminating the room was the massive fire on the opposite wall. Noting the slight green hue to the flames, Hermione deducted that it was, in fact, a hotel within another sector of Wizarding London.

Draco returned only seconds later, a glass of water in one hand a small vial in another. “Prevents hangovers,” he explained. “You never ate your chips. No sense in spending hours at the memorial with a pounding headache.” Hermione eyed the vial warily. “Yes, Granger, because I would poison someone I was just very publicly seen leaving the bar with.”

He walked away to sit on one of the plush leather couches, spreading his arms along the back in a rather unrefined way Hermione never would have pictured of him. 

Weighing his words, Hermione downed the potion, chasing it with her water. The effect was unlike anything she’d ever experienced, a cooling sensation spreading through her body as the hazy edges of her vision and mind sharpened.

 _That’s not just for hangovers,_ she noted, the pressure between her eyes easing. She studied the vial as a song she recognized came on softly through the surround sound. “Is this… Muggle music?” she asked, turning towards him. _“American_ Muggle music?”

“You learn to appreciate things when you’re not being an insufferable elitist,” he patted the seat next to him on the couch. 

Hermione hesitated. _Oh, gods, we’re going to do this… Breathe, Granger… Don’t let him see how anxious you are… You’ve done this before… though never with someone so irritatingly sexy…_ “Are you sure? About this? About doing this?” she asked abruptly. 

Draco smirked, “Does that big brain of yours ever stop overthinking?”

“No,” she said flatly. “This is silly, right? Me, here, in your hotel?”

“I don’t think there’s anything silly about it,” he said with a straight face.

“I just… I’m typically more prepared than this.”

“Not the spontaneous sort then?” he chuckled, running his hands through his hair. He sat forward, steely gaze locked on her in earnest. “I’m not going to force you into anything. If you want to go, then go. I won’t think less of you for it. Just do what _you_ want, Granger. Not what you think people want you to do.”

Hermione stood silent, studying him and his words as though they were a revelation. Draco was about to open his mouth to speak again when Hermione walked towards him, pushing him back against the sofa, straddling him as she sat in his lap. “I can be spontaneous,” she said, as much to herself as to him. 

Draco wrapped his arms around her waist as his pupils blew wide with surprise and awe. “Clearly.” 

Hermione shivered at the feeling, him having barely touched her, his body radiating heat beneath her. “Just… don’t laugh. Okay?”

“What would I possibly have to laugh at?”

Hermione looked away. “As you noted, it’s been a while and—”

“Granger,” her name was sharp on his tongue, causing her to look back at him. “Relax. It’s been some time for me too.”

“It has?” For some reason, it surprised her. 

“Yes. So no laughing.” 

Hermione bit her lip, a smile threatening to escape. “I have rules,” she said, trying to keep her focus. 

“Kinky,” the blond smirked, running his hand up her back, his long fingers winding into her hair. 

“No kissing,” she said, feeling his fingers comb through her hair, trying her best to not moan at the sensation. With the exception of the errant hairdresser, no one had ever played with her hair before. She hadn’t _known_ she wanted her hair played with...

Draco leaned in, his breath hot on her neck. “Anywhere? Or somewhere specific?” he growled against her collarbone, planting a soft experimental kiss on the exposed skin at the base of her neck. 

“L-lips,” she stammered, feeling a rush of heat flooding her core. 

“Hmm, which ones?” his other hand snaked its way up the side of her shirt, his thumb tracing small circles.

Hermione’s face flushed. “Mouth,” she was beginning to lose her focus, mind, and body in battle. “Too personal,” she exhaled her excuse.

“More personal than me licking your cunt until you scream my name?” he asked, low into her neck. To emphasize his point, he ran the flat of his tongue up the column of her neck, causing her body to quake. 

“You… you do that?” Hermione stuttered, shifting in his lap to avoid eye contact. 

Draco’s voice rumbled humorously against her jaw. “Dear lord, Granger. I _am_ about to spoil you, aren’t I?” Hermione dared to look at him, pulling from him far enough to meet his line of sight. His darkened eyes both threatened and teased, piercing through her; waking something in her she thought long dormant. “Any other rules?”

“No,” she whispered, her eyes darting between his own and his lips, part of her already regretting her rule. “You?”

His mercury eyes flashed possessively. Rolling her onto her back, she laid flat along his couch as he crawled on top of her. Running his palms to the inside of her wrists, he pulled her arms up above her head, wandlessly sticking them to the sofa with a charm. “No touching,” he commanded, biting gently on the soft skin of her neck. “Not until I say.”

“Controlling,” Hermione smirked, staring up at him. 

“You have no idea,” he chuckled, licking over the spot he just bit before tucking the tip of his finger into the front of her blouse. “I want you to relax, Granger,” he said, tugging at her top button. “Let your body feel.” Draco popped the next, kissing her exposed décolletage. Hermione’s head fell back, every nerve in her body alert and aware, anxious anticipation coursing through her veins. 

“Quiet your mind,” his voice echoed into her being, silver and smoke quelling her rampant thoughts. “Lose yourself to tonight.” The button covering her breasts sprung free, his warm mouth kissing between them.

“That’s a lot of rules,” she breathed, her back arching into his touch.

Draco looked up at her. “Commands,” he snarled, eliciting an auditory moan from her. 

_Oh, gods,_ her body hummed with excitement she’d never expected.

He laughed sinfully, popping button after button, kiss after kiss, her skin electric beneath him. Hermione’s blouse fell open, pooling at her sides. “Fuck me, Granger,” Draco sat back far enough to drink her in.

Hermione glanced down, shame tugging at the corners of her mind. “Unprepared,” she said, wishing she had worn any other bra. 

“You are a bloody vision,” Draco said, tipping her chin up to face him. “You hear me?” She nodded once, any self-doubt she had fading away. He ran his thumb along her bottom lip, causing her skin to chill, goosebumps flashing across her body.

 _No one has ever…_ Hermione’s thoughts were lost to the sensation of Draco’s tongue dragging around her navel. “Oh gods,” she moaned, her body shifting impatiently. 

“Draco will do,” he said smugly, nipping at the skin just above the hem of her jeans. He pulled his hand from her face and reached into his front shirt pocket, pulling his wand out of the extended space. Gently tapping the end of it against the spot he’d just bitten, he muttered what she recognized as a contraceptive charm. 

Quickly slipping the wand out of sight, he went to work on the front of her jeans, unzipping them before tugging them down over her hips. Draco pulled the denim down her thighs sitting back to make quick work of her shoes; trainers and denim falling to the floor beside them. 

Hermione watched as his typically coiffed blonde hair hung loosely in front of his eyes, his gaze trailing from the tips of her toes up to her face; a soft smile accompanied by a fierce desire burning behind his silver eyes. “You’ve been hiding this body beneath those ghastly Gryffindor robes that whole time?” 

The unspoken tension and anxiety building in Hermione snapped, causing her to bark with laughter. “What was wrong with my robes?” she smiled.

“They weren’t green,” he raised his brows, feeding her fit of laughter.

_I can’t remember the last time I laughed so much..._

Draco’s hands ran back up her smooth legs, his thumb tracing over the pale cotton covering her sex. “Fuck me, you are positively dripping,” he muttered, eyes intent on her as though she were prey. 

Hermione blushed, her fit of giggles subsiding in a gasp, attempting to squeeze her thighs together. “No,” he snapped abruptly, separating her thighs with his palms. “I am going to touch you, and fuck you, and taste you on every surface I possibly can before your body can no longer cum.”

She bit her lip, watching the fire behind his eyes, mercury boiling. She’d seen him angry before. This wasn’t that. This was something primal. Carnal. Something she wanted to surrender herself to, if just for the night. Hermione relaxed her legs, Draco’s trademark sneer taking over his face. “Good girl,” he said, ripping her knickers down. Before she could protest at how much they cost, his tongue licked up her soaked folds, eliciting a sound she hadn’t known she could make. 

Draco hummed in approval against her, the vibrations traveling up her wanting core. He slipped a finger through her slick before reaching up, placing it in her slacked mouth. “Suck,” he commanded. Hermione’s mouth closed around it, her tongue swirling to lick her juices off of him. He pulled his digit from her with a pop before gently pushing it into her sex. 

Hermione let out a cry from the intrusion, his long fingers playing across the softness within. He buried his face back down between her legs, tongue sweeping across her clit. Her thighs tightened around his head as she tried to pull at the charm that bound her hands above her head. His fingers stroked along the soft inside, curling up into her, pushing and pulling in and out as he sucked and licked.

 _To hell, it’s been a while for him,_ she thought, Draco’s low laugh pulling her from her thoughts. 

The heat in her core began to coil, a spring being turned tighter and tighter as he pushed her closer and closer to the edge. Hermione refused to release this soon. He had just started. “Relax, Granger,” his voice coached her. Had he said it? Was it in her head? It didn’t matter. Her body let go of the tension it was holding, a white heat taking hold of her as she came undone. “That’s it. Give in. Let yourself feel.” His voice tipped her completely over. 

Wave after wave of repressed euphoria crashed over her. Her hands, suddenly free of the binding charm, raked into Draco’s blond locks. Fists full of his hair, she pulled his face back against her. He lapped at her, the bridge of his nose rubbing against her over sensitive clit. 

Coming off of her high, Hermione realized that she was effectively fucking his face. She dropped her hands to her sides almost immediately, her face washed with an embarrassed hue. “I am going to break you of that,” Draco said pointedly, wiping his face with the back of his hand as he sat up. “You have _zero_ reason to ever be embarrassed.”

Hermione bit her lip anxiously, his words swimming in her head. 

“You think entirely too much,” Draco commented as if he could hear her internal dialogue. “Let’s go,” he held out his hand to her. 

“Go?”

 _“Every_ surface,” he flashed her a wicked smile. Hermione reached out and took his hand, expecting him to lead her somewhere. Instead, they disapparated into the kitchen of the hotel suite. 

Draco immediately bent her over the kitchen island, his hand roughly thrusting into her curls. She realized quickly that he had stripped her of her bra and blouse. “How did you?” 

“Trade secret,” he whispered into her ear, his palm running down her spine. He pushed himself up against her, pinning her to the granite. “Have I ever told you what a perfect arse you have?” Draco asked from behind her. “Your Muggle trousers, lewd as they were, did wonders for my imagination in fifth year.”

“My jeans weren’t lewd,” she said, feeling his palm rub her right cheek. 

“With this arse they were,” he said softly right before a smack echoed through the spacious kitchen. The sting of his palm caused her to cry out. 

“Did you just spank me?!” she squealed, attempting to wiggle out of his grasp. The pain subsided quickly, leaving her with a sense of want. A desire for him to do it again...

“I did,” he stated proudly. “And I’ll do it again,” he promised.

Hermione felt the coil within her tighten again, astonished that something so barbaric would have that kind of effect on her. “Malfoy, you right foul git,” she protested.

“Don’t act like you didn’t like it,” his voice was low, his hand rubbing across her left cheek now. “I _know_ you did.”

“How could you possibly kn—”

Draco’s hand smacked against her cheek, harder than he had slapped before. “I just _know,_ Granger.”

“I—”

Draco released her hair, his nails scratching ever so lightly down her back. “Has it ever occurred to you that maybe being a bossy know-it-all holds you back sometimes?” he asked, teasing her with the sensation. 

“Holds me back?” Hermione gasped incredulously. 

“You don’t just let yourself _feel,”_ his fingers slipped through the slick of her folds, finding her clit once more. “You are wound up so,” his fingers continued to massage her clit as she felt a new warmth prod at her entrance. “Tight,” he finished, thrusting his cock into her. 

Hermione gasped, hands gripping the sides of the island, unable to question when he had taken his pants off. _A desire to know if my arrogance is well placed?_ His earlier question ripped to the forefront of her mind, him filling her completely.

“Fuck, your cunt is perfect,” he growled, pulling himself back.

She gasped once more at the sudden loss of him inside her. As unexpected as it had been, she wanted more. Wanted all of him. Desperately needing to have him inside her once more. Answering her silent plea, he thrust himself back in, sheathing himself fully into her slick depths. “Draco,” she moaned, his name escaping her lips.

He gripped her hip with his free hand, fingers digging into her hard enough she’d bruise. “Fuck, Granger,” he gritted out between deep punishing thrusts. He kept his pace, methodically pushing her closer and closer towards her summit, towards the edge where her body so desperately wanted to be. She stretched around him, gasping and moaning each time he drove into her.

Hermione’s rampant thoughts quickly became fleeting, the building pressure inside her silencing her overactive mind. Her body surrendered itself to him, pushing back to meet him, wanting him deeper, needing him harder. 

“That’s it,” Draco rasped, his voice humming through her body. “You’re fucking filthy, aren’t you?” Hermione moaned as her hips bit into the granite island. “Taking my cock like a good little witch?”

Hermione would have been embarrassed by the physical reaction his words had on her, feeling herself run down her legs as they became weak. Words which, if uttered by anyone else, would have enraged her. Instead, it turned her on that much more, having the same effect as the spank had. _More… Again…_

“Answer me, Granger,” he growled, his palm striking her left arse cheek, heat surging through her. 

_How had he known?_

“Y-yes,” she stammered, tightening around him as he slammed into her. 

“Good girl,” he purred, his fingers finding her swollen clit. 

“Ah!” Hermione gasped from the added stimulation. “Gods,” she melted back into his touch, his fingers expertly circling with the perfect amount of pressure. 

Draco ripped her arm from the counter, pinning it against her back. He held her there as he continued to thrust, the sounds of him slapping against her filling the air. “So, fucking, tight,” he ground out as he picked up pace, the edge coming closer and closer each time he bottomed out. 

“Gods, yes!” she cried, her vision blurring as her stomach tightened, the spring inside being wound tighter than before. Tighter than it had ever been. 

“Cum for me, Granger.” It wasn’t a question or a request. It was a demand. A command, hurling her over the top of her summit into an abyss of ecstasy.

Hermione felt herself tighten around him as everything went dark, brilliant stars at the edges of her sight. Her body spasmed beneath Draco, whose voice could be heard telling her how beautiful she was as she came. She could feel herself on him, down him, dripping as never-ending waves of ecstasy took hold of her, the stars burning her vision blindingly white.

“Draco,” she choked out, feeling herself pulse around him. 

He ran his hands up her back, massaging the muscle on either side of her spine as he did. “Always wanted to hear you scream my name as you came,” his tongue licked a strip from her shoulder blades to the nape of her neck.

Before she could respond, before she could process the flood of emotion that was about to consume her, she felt herself being ripped through the air, landing on a plush mattress in a windowed room. 

Draco was still inside her, his hips rocking into her, deliberately slow. Hermione realized she was on her back, one leg over his shoulder, him straddling the other as he split her wide with his cock. Penetrating deeper, she moaned. 

The new angle was much more intimate, so much more intense. _So much deeper…_ her thoughts cried out as memories dissolved into nothingness, Draco consuming her, mind, body, and soul. 

Hermione’s body was spent and sore, yet she found herself wanting more. Needing more. Needing Draco. 

He’d awoken something in her. 

Mind quiet and body longing, her emotions began to flood her system without rhyme or reason. Sensory overload threatened to overtake her just as Draco thrust into her, bringing her back to the present. 

“One more time, Granger,” Draco’s voice cut through to her core. He rolled into her, controlling the speed to his benefit.

Hermione’s vision adjusted, making out the contours and shadows of his body. His already sharp angles looked nearly sinister in the glow of downtown London. His chest and abs were distracting enough that she wanted to reach out and touch, to trace the fine lines of his Sectumsempra scars, to feel the sweat that beaded down off him. Hermione watched as his muscles flexed, his length slipping in and out of her. 

“Draco,” she hoarsed, her mouth dry. 

“Say it again,” he thrust into her harder, his teeth grazing the inside of her calf. 

“Drac-o!” Hermione was surprised at the feeling. With a smirk, Draco bit down. “Fuck!” Her nerves fired off all at once, a tingle running through her body. “Draco!” she screamed again, the pressure on her clit readying her. 

“So... fucking... beautiful,” Draco thrust into her, faster and faster, chasing his own climax through. With one final thrust, he swore, the obscenity foreign as he emptied into her. 

“Draco,” she sobbed abruptly, the wave of emotion finally crashing into her euphoric high. 

“Let it out, Granger.”

Hermione’s hands dug into the sheets as she whimpered his name over and over again, numb bliss taking her away. She felt nothing and everything at the same time, an orgasm more intense than any she’d had before.

Tears threatened her eyes as everything she’d kept pent up, buried deep inside, broke free. 

For the first time since the war ended, she cried. 

Draco collapsed on top of her, kissing at the errant tears that streamed down her face. “It’s going to be okay,” he whispered, running his fingers into her soaked hair. “I’ve got you. You’re going to be okay.”

He rolled into his side, pulling her against his chest, stroking her hair as she battled images she’d deliberately locked away. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed, gripping his hand tight against her. 

“Don’t ever apologize for your demons.” 

Draco held her, kissing the top of her head until her crying calmed in the early morning hours. Exhaustion took Hermione shortly after, luring her into the first peaceful night’s sleep she’d gotten in seven years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading! And double thank you to everyone with your wonderful comments! 
> 
> My goal is to try to update on Fridays. Not every Friday. And clearly not Fridays specifically as I am uploading this on a Saturday lol but it's a goal none the less!
> 
> I can't begin to tell you how excited I am about this fic! I must have at least two notebooks filled up and three DM threads full of mood board inspiration, mental health discussions, and dialogue.
> 
> If you have any inspiration you'd like to add please feel free to message me @crystymre on Twitter or @crystymre_writes on IG. 
> 
> Thank you, everyone!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE! For those sensitive to Ron Weasely hate/bashing please understand that this chapter is not your friend. That said... there are two sides to every story. While we won't be hearing Ron's for some time know that his actions, while not justified, come from his own experiences. 
> 
> For those that are genuinely anti-Ron, you're welcome? 
> 
> Either way, this chapter hit's many of the trigger warnings I've included in the tags. Read responsibly!

✣ ✣ ✣

Draco woke the next morning, surprised to find Hermione Granger still wrapped up in his arms. She had fallen asleep a quarter past two, gripped onto him as though he were a security blanket. She’d stopped crying some hours before that, overwhelmed with the flood of emotions that came with her last climax; every repressed memory she’d so poorly buried beneath the surface coming to light the minute she let herself go. One thing was certain: she was absolute shit at occlumency.

While Draco wouldn’t say he was morally above reading other people’s thoughts, legilimency forcibly taught to him during the war, he did try to make it an earnest effort not to. Unfortunately, when thoughts were being broadcast, loudly at that, he had little choice but to listen. Typically if a woman were to break down and begin to sob in his bed, him still inside her no less, he’d be mortified. But with Hermione, it was different. He wasn’t the cause of her anguish. History was. The war was. His aunt was. 

He lay with her seeing every memory as it came back to torture her, feeling every emotion, enduring the pain she went through second hand. On a loop, visions of Bellatrix, the snatchers, her parents, and the Weasel played over and over, letting him form a variety of conclusions; the foremost being that he was going to  _ have  _ to tell her the truth about his legilimency.

Eventually…

For the time being, Draco was simply going to enjoy the feeling of her in his arms. He pulled her closer to his chest, his hands tracing the light freckles that dusted her sun-kissed arms. Connecting the tanned speckles with the tip of his fingers, he made out false constellations, ducking to kiss the point of one on her warm shoulder. 

A soft knock came from the living room.  _ Shit.  _ Slipping out of bed so as to not wake Hermione, he cast a silencing charm over the room as he left. Pulling sweatpants out of his luggage, he stumbled towards the hotel door, remembering he had given Hermione his hangover tonic; a pounding headache gradually thumping louder the more he moved. 

The knock came again. “Oi! Open up!”

_ Theodore Nott.  _

Draco opened the door just wide enough to see his friend standing in the hallway, carrying two to-go cups in his hands. “What do you want?” Draco asked, more edge in his voice than he’d anticipated. 

“Hello, Draco,” Theo said with a bright smile. “Fine weather we’re having. Great party last night.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Oh, wait,…you weren’t there. Were you?”

“Excuse me for not jumping on the first opportunity to see my ex-wife,” Draco deadpanned. 

“Where’d you run off to?” Theo tried to crane his neck around Draco.  _ No way in hell the rumors are true…  _

“Cauldron.” He saw no point in lying to his only friend. 

“So the rumor mills  _ are  _ true?” he smiled. It was the one thing Draco appreciated about him: anything he thought, he said. Most didn’t realize how transparent Theo was, him always speaking what was on his mind. It made life easier for Draco, not having to tiptoe around his own legilimency. 

“What do the vapid and nebby have to say today?” Draco sighed, letting Theo into his hotel suite. 

“Well, according to the most reliable source of information at the Prophet—”

“Skeeter?”

“The one and only. She was given an anonymous tip that _ you  _ were spotted leaving the Cauldron with Hermione Granger of all people.” Theo flashed him a wicked knowing-grin before handing over one of the cups. “Cream. No sugar.”

Draco eyed his friend, taking a long sip of the coffee. “Pepperup?” he asked, tasting it again.

“Pepperup _ Plus,” _ he corrected Draco. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Did you or did you not take home the Golden Girl?”

“Don’t call her that,” Draco snapped, immediately trying to sort out why he was defending her. 

“You did!” Theo’s face lit up. “She still here?”

“Thanks for the coffee.” Draco began to push Theo back out towards the hall. “See you on Sunday.”

Theo planted his feet. “Oh, no, no, no. You’re coming tomorrow. Last party at the Nott Estates. With any luck, the place will raze itself, and I’ll be rid of it.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“You should bring her,” Theo wiggled his brows. 

“No.”

“So you’ll shag her but not show her off?”

**_Distasteful, Draco._ **

“She’s not  _ mine  _ to show off,” Draco growled.

“Afraid Pansy will spaz out?”

“Pansy was a mistake. The sooner she learns that, the better.”

“Then bring Granger,” Theo argued. “At the very least, having her there should keep Pans’ at bay.”

“No. The last thing I’m going to do is drag her into my shit.”

“Did I mention it’s a masquerade?” 

Draco paused for a split second, considering the benefit of disguises. “Out.”

“Need a side along?” Theo stalled, craning his neck to look further into the suite. 

“Got it covered.”

“Should I save you a seat or… ?”

“Out. Now,” Draco snapped. 

Theo laughed, “Fine, fine, fine.” He held his hands up in surrender as he backed out into the hallway. “‘Bout time you got laid. You’ve really been a miserable, sad-sack lately.”

“Hey Theo,” Draco leaned against the doorway. “Fewer greys next time? Looks like my  _ father  _ decorated in here.”

“Client wants what the client wants,” Theo said with a shrug. 

Draco shut the door on him. He quickly downed the coffee, tasting the added ingredients, as he made his way to the kitchen. Putting a pot of coffee on, he walked about the hotel suite, picking up Hermione’s clothes as he went. He countered his silencing charm before tip-toeing into the bedroom, setting her belongings in a neat pile at the foot of the bed. 

Sliding back in beside her, he charmed another cup of coffee and his book to the bed, content on reading until she woke up. He could only begin to guess when the last decent night’s sleep was she’d gotten. Based on the images that had flashed through her mind as she fell apart, he could only assume it was well before Diggory died. 

Four chapters in, he felt the bed shift beside him, Hermione stretching and yawning. His eyes met hers as realization dawned on her. “Hey,” she said softly, a pink hue staining her face in embarrassment. 

“Morning,” Draco closed his book. 

“Time?”

“8:30.”

“Shit!” Hermione sat upright, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the sunlight streaming in the windows. “I have to—”

“It’s still an hour and a half until the ceremony. You can floo to the Cauldron from here.”

_ Oh, gods, he’s going to think I’m trying to run. Am I trying to run? Am I trying to stay?  _

**_Manners, Draco._ **

“Coffee?” he asked, holding up his own cup. 

“Yes. Thank you,” Hermione pulled the sheets up around her, keeping her left arm covered. “Cream. No sugar.” Draco charmed another cup for her, prepared exactly as he took his. “Sorry,” she whispered. “For the crying—”

“Told you once. Don’t apologize,” Draco handed her the mug. 

“Can’t imagine it does wonders for your ego to have a girl crying in your bed,” Hermione spoke candidly.  _ Gods, I must have been a mess. Half drunk, crying, ...I need my shirt…  _

“Definitely a first,” he couldn’t help but chuckle. “Seriously, don’t worry about it. You screaming my name did plenty for my ego.”

Hermione’s blush deepened. “Yes. Well…” she trailed off, taking a sip of her coffee.

“Don’t be ashamed of feeling things, Granger. You went through a lot. You’re allowed to have emotions.” Hermione sat, stunned. Draco studied her, understanding that he was the first person to give her permission just to feel. 

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

“Look,” he shifted in the bed. “Not my business. But there’s help out there.”

“I—”

_ “ Not  _ my business,” he repeated. Hermione closed her mouth. “Breakfast?”

“Famished, actually,” she smiled weakly. 

“Menu is on the nightstand. Order whatever you’d like.” Draco slipped out of bed. “I’m going to shower.” He paused. “Unless you’d like to join me?”

Hermione blushed. _ I need my shirt… “ _ I should really go get dressed. I have a speech to give.”

Draco could feel his face fall. He should have known better than to expect her to stay. She needed something. He gave it to her. That was that. 

“Suit yourself,” he shrugged. “Meet you downstairs at the Cauldron? ‘Bout an hour?”

“Okay,” she smiled awkwardly. Her eyes darted from her clothes back to Draco. 

“Right.” He headed to the bathroom, allowing her privacy to dress in. 

✣ ✣ ✣

Hermione dressed as quickly as she could, making the bed before she floo’d back to her inn. The smell of stale beer hit her the minute she entered, causing her to miss the scent of Draco’s bed. She shimmied out of her jeans once more, laying out her garment bag. Pulling out a matronly black dress, she de-wrinkled it with a flick before heading to her shower. 

_ Really should have taken him up on his offer, _ she thought, cramming herself into the too-small tub, the showerhead short even for her height. Opting to Scourgify the sex off of her, she threw her hair up into an uncooperative bun with a charm. Dressed, she checked the time. 9:32.  _ Shit.  _ Hermione threw her wand into an extended clutch before running downstairs.

She stopped just short of the last step seeing Draco sitting, black on black, as he read the Daily Prophet. “Have you read Skeeter’s nonsense?”

“I avoid her  _ column  _ as best I can,” she walked towards him. “Load of rubbish. Whoever decided she was a journalist ought to have their heads examined.”  _ Should have turned her in… wonder if it’s too late?  _

“She appears to have gotten at least half her story right,” Draco held up the paper. A picture showed the two disappearing through the back door of the Cauldron the night before. He held it out for her to take, turning towards the bartender. 

**“Hermione Granger,”** she read aloud,  **“spotted leaving the Leaky Cauldron with none other than Draco Malfoy. Sources say the two were seen leaving the dive pub shortly after eight. The two reportedly chose the dive for its secrecy, cuddling up to dine together.”**

Hermione paused. “They couldn’t have seen us. I cast a disillusionment. And we didn’t even eat!” 

“That’s the part you’re worried about?” Draco eyed her. “That they assumed you ate those chips?”

She huffed, reading on.  **“Draco Malfoy: heir to the Malfoy fortune, and son to notorious death eater Lucius Malfoy, has reappeared on the social scene after a notable absence. Disappearing after his divorce to Astoria Greengrass, now Astoria Zambini, he hasn’t been spotted since his torrid affair with Pansy Parkinson, his childhood sweetheart.”**

Hermione stopped. “You and Pansy?”

“Don’t get me started on that. One drunken mistake—”

“And last night was?”

“Definitely not a mistake.”

_ Well, that’s good to know.  _ Hermione hid her smile with the paper. 

**“Is it possible that this former death eater is trying to clean up his bad-boy image by chasing Harry Potter’s golden girl Hermione Granger?”**

She exhaled loudly. “For Merlin’s sake! I am not Harry Potter’s anything!” 

“It gets better,” he smirked sarcastically. 

**“Or is it possible that Miss Granger is using Mr. Malfoy as a rebound after her heartbreaking breakup with famed playboy Ronald Weasley?”**

“It was five years ago! How is it a rebound half a decade later?!” Hermione shouted.

“So I’m not a rebound?” Draco raised a brow.

“I will hex you.” She shot him a glare, earning a laugh from him. 

**“One thing is for certain, Miss Granger’s tastes in men haven’t changed as Mr. Malfoy is now the** **_fifth_ ** **famous former quidditch player she’s dated.** ”

Hermione balled the paper up and tossed it into the hearth behind the bar. “I’m going to shove her lying arse back in that jar—”

“Shot?” Draco cut in, turning to her with a light amber drink. 

“It’s not even ten in the morning.”

“And?”

Hermione gave it another seconds thought before she grabbed the shot glass, throwing its contents back. “What is that?!” she hissed. 

“Tequila.” Draco took his shot. “Cheap tequila.” 

“Clearly.”

“For effect. Not taste,” he said, ordering another round. “I really am sorry.”

“For Rita?”

“Woman has been angling after me for years. Should have known she’d be lurking around somewhere. I had a protective order against her during the divorce.” Draco tapped his glass on the bar, ordering another round.

“It’s not your fault,” Hermione leaned up against the bar. “She’s awful. Did you know she’s an Animagus?”

“I didn’t. Explains a lot, though.”

“Caught her in a jar once. Should have left her there to suffocate.”

“Have I ever told you how frighteningly sexy you are?”

“Shut up.” Hermione nudged him with her shoulder. 

“I mean it. You are terrifying in the sexiest way possible.”

“Kiss ass.”

“Oh, I’d gladly kiss your ass if you’d let me.” His eyes flashed. He handed Hermione her refilled shot glass. “To a splendidly awkward memorial ceremony.”

“To hexing Rita the minute I see her,” Hermione cheered him, tossing the tequila back. “That does  _ not  _ get any better,” she hissed again, slamming the glass on the counter. 

Draco threw a handful of galleons on the bar, setting their tab from the night before. “Come along, Granger,” he hopped up. “You’ve got a speech to give, and I’ve got people to sneer at. Unless you wanna do another? Show up half-cocked.  _ Really  _ give her something to write about.” 

“Can’t be late.” Hermione shook her head. 

“I believe the masses would forgive their infallible speaker for a moment’s tardiness.”

“Orator,” she corrected, his false praise not going unnoticed. Hermione looked to the bartender. “Any lime?” The man shook his head no. She looked at Draco. “You’re a bad influence.”

“Well, I do have an image to uphold.” He shot her a smile, ordering a third round. “Like it better without the charms.” He pointed to her hair. “It’s more  _ you.” _

“Thought Malfoy’s don’t do compliments?”

“We don’t,” he said, taking his glass. “What to?”

“To getting into trouble,” she laughed. 

“Oh, we’re already in trouble.” 

The two threw back their third shot, both wincing at the burn. “How does it burn  _ more?” _

“Don’t know,” Draco shook, throwing another galleon on the bar. “Let’s go before this turns into a habit.” He held out his arm for her, Hermione looping through before the couple walked towards the back alley.

With a crack, they appeared in the Hogwarts courtyard.

_ I should have stayed and drank. Should have stayed in his bed. I shouldn’t have come here…  _

“Granger?”

_ Breathe… It’s one speech. You have your notes. In. Out. Done. Maybe I can get him to shag me in a broom closet, work out the nerves…  _

“Hey,” Draco squeezed her arm. “You got this.”

“No chance you want to trade?” Hermione looked up at him, anxiety floating in her eyes. “You give my speech while I stand at the back and brood?”

Draco scoffed. “I don’t  _ brood.” _

“Oh yes, you do,” she smiled. “You spent all of sixth year brooding.”

He shot her a look, leaning in. “You have that psychopath decide to become your roomie and try to be chipper.”

Hermione bit her lip. “Sorry.”

“Quit apologizing.”

“But it’s fine when you apologize for landing us in the gossip column?”

_ “They,”  _ he motioned towards the windows of the Great Hall, “already think the worst of me.” He didn’t need to finish the sentence for her to understand what he meant. “It’s your pristine reputation I was worried about.”

She let go of his arm, taking a half step back from him. “See you after?”

“Might catch a ride with Theo,” Draco shrugged. “Don’t really feel like hanging out to socialize.” 

Hermione’s face flashed disappointment.  _ Better this way, _ she thought.  _ He was a distraction. A  _ **_fantastic_ ** _ distraction…  _

Draco tried to not smirk at her thoughts. “Here,” he pulled a vial out of his blazer pocket. “This one will last you about thirty minutes. Should get you through the first third of your speech,” he smirked. 

“What is it?” she asked, reaching for it.

“Potion of Potential,” he murmured into his sleeve. 

“What?!” Hermione gasped. “Where did you get this?! Do you have any idea how much trouble you could—”

“Planning on turning me into McGonagall, Granger?” Draco smiled. “Get me detention in the Forest again?”

“You got yourself that detention,” Hermione quickly reminded him. “You  _ made  _ this. Didn’t you?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” He shrugged, feigning innocence. 

“That hangover tonic, that was yours too?”

Draco reached out and bopped her on the nose. “Brightest witch of our age.” He flashed her a brilliantly white smile before making his way towards the Great Hall. 

“We are _ so _ not done talking about this!” She shouted after him. “Is this what you’ve been up to? Making bootleg—” Hermione smacked into the back of Draco. 

“We’re late,” he whispered out of the corner of his mouth, the last two rows of the memorial glaring at the pair.

_ So they  _ **_are_ ** _ together… How dare he arrive with her… Gold digger…  _

“Oh bloody hell,” Hermione sighed, slipping the vial into her clutch. She composed herself before walking down the center aisle to her empty seat at the front. Heels clicked against the stone, heads turning towards her as Headmistress McGonagall continued her speech. Hermione took her seat, receiving a sympathetic smile from Harry and an icy glare from Ron. 

“Late night?” Ron shot at her, just loud enough for the three to hear. 

“Should be asking you,” she snapped. “I can smell you from here.”

Ron sniffed the air dramatically. “Funny. All I smell is Ferret.”

“Excuse you?” her head whipped to him.

“Would you both stop?” Harry pleaded. 

“Is it true?” Ron asked. “You shagging  _ Malfoy  _ ?”

_ Yes. I am. And he knows how to find my clit. “ _ I don’t see how that is any of  _ your  _ business.”

“Slag,” Ron spat.

“Oh, you’re one to talk,” she bit, her voice just loud enough to garner McGonagall’s attention. 

“Both of you shut up,” Harry snapped. 

“Was it to get back at me? You disappear for five years, and  _ this  _ is your revenge?”

_ So what if it was?  _ “ Shut it, Ronald.”

“I don’t know who I feel sorrier for. You or that cretin.”

“Look who got a thesaurus. Made it to the C’s, have you?”

“Listen here, you fucking—”

“Miss Hermione Granger,” McGonagall’s voice boomed, causing Hermione to jump. She was motioned to the podium. 

_ Oh gods, oh gods… Breathe… Breathe… Breathe…  _

Hermione stood, clutch in hand. Her legs shook as she neared the podium, McGonagall giving her a reassuring look. “Want me to throw him out?” the elder witch asked kindly. 

“Into the lake?” Hermione smiled. 

“Say the word, and it’s done.” McGonagall gave her a hug before taking her seat at the faculty table. 

Hermione turned and faced the crowd. Three hundred faces that she all knew stared back at her, waiting. Tequila sloshed in her stomach as nausea hit her. 

_ Never should have left his bed… Most peace I’ve gotten in months….  _

She’d given speeches after the war to much larger crowds, but none had her as nervous as this one. She wasn’t sure if it was because of the weight of the memorial or if it was because it was the first speech where Ron wasn’t cheering her on. Either way, she felt as though she were going to throw up.

_ Even if I did blow chunks, they’d still applaud me…  _

She’d never received a bad reaction from an audience before, the crowd always being too polite to ever tell her how droll her speeches could be. Harry was the motivational speaker, always capturing people’s attention. She’d tried and failed to capture the spirit in which he spoke, intellectual jokes falling on deaf ears. She resigned herself to being the informative one; Harry the leader, Ron the comedian.

_ He’s waiting for me to fail… I can smell the booze on him from here. Or is that me? I never should have agreed to this. I could be at home, with my cat…  _

A cough came from the audience, the Great Hall silent in anticipation.

_ Of course, if I hadn’t come, I never would have shagged Malfoy… Why did I leave his bed again?  _

“Miss Granger?” McGonagall whispered to her.

_ How long have I been standing here?  _ Her fingers tapped to her thumb behind the lectern.  _ Breathe… Get your notecards… Breathe…. One, two, three, four…  _

Hermione opened her clutch to dig for her notecards, written out in perfect penmanship, numbered in order.  _ Where are they?!  _ Hermione reached frantically into the extension, unable to find them.  _ No, no, no, no, no, no, no….  _ Her clutch fell to the floor. Hermione bent to pick it up, smacking her head on the podium as she did. 

“Shit,” she hissed. The crowd began to murmur, Ron laughing until Harry elbowed him. Draco’s vial fell out, catching her eye.  _ Worst case scenario, it  _ **_is_ ** _ poison. At least I won’t die of embarrassment,  _ she thought, uncorking the small bottle. She downed it, McGonagall clearing her throat. “One second.” Hermione held up a finger. 

The potion took effect instantly, her vision brightening, her stomach settling. Hermione sprang back up, an awkward smile on her face. She glanced around the room, eyes settling on Ginny, Luna, and Lavender. They all gave her smiles of encouragement, boosting the tangible feeling of confidence that spread through her body. 

She shifted her gaze, searching for Draco’s head of blond locks, finding him second row from the back. 

_ So what if Rita was reaching? Say what she will about quidditch players, chasing that snitch did his body good…  _

Hermione blinked, swearing she could see Draco blush.

“Cute,” she breathed, forgetting her voice would be amplified at the lectern, a few women in the audience giggling.

“Miss Granger?”

“Right. Sorry. Morning everyone,” the words spilled out of her mouth. Her speech flashed in front of her eyes as though they were scripted into the air. “Sorry about that. Rough morning.” A few light-hearted chuckles came from the audience before she dove into her speech. 

✣ ✣ ✣

Hermione sat back down to the most enthusiastic round of applause she’d ever received. She hadn’t needed a timer to know when she hit half an hour, the feeling of the potion waning inside her. She’d powered through to the end of her speech, the effects of the Potential worn out by the time she finished.

She maintained her smile as she sat, the tequila mixing with her hunger, her anxiety showing itself again. 

_ I did it. I just have to sit here… not hex Ron… God’s I’d kill for some waffles right now.  _

“That was brilliant,” Harry congratulated her with a wide smile. “You even got Filch to clap for you.”

“Yeah,” Ron chimed in. “The best part was when you smacked your head.”

“Come off it, Ron,” Harry scowled at him. 

“Whatever,” Ron stood, adjusting his sloppy tie before taking his turn to speak. The red-head stumbled to the podium, flashing a drunken smile at a cluster of girls sitting near the front. _ Love must be blind, _ Hermione thought, shuddering at the images of Ron that flashed through her head. 

“So I hate to ask.” Harry leaned in. “Are you and Malfoy…?”

“Harry,” Hermione warned him. 

“I just want to make sure you’re being safe. That’s all. You’re grown. You can do as you please. But if he hurts you, I can’t promise I won’t hurt him.”

“I appreciate it. Really. I do. But we’re not together.”  _ It was just sex. Amazing, meaningless, sex. Sex I need more of…  _

“Want me to get Rita to retract the article then?” Harry looked at her sympathetically.

_ Why is he looking at me like that…?  _

“She and I are going to have a little _ chat  _ after this. Remind her of my benevolence.”

“I know a good hiding spot for the body,” Harry laughed, causing Hermione to smile. 

“Only if it can fit two.” Her smile dropped as Ron approached them, the audience giving him lackluster applause for his brief speech.

“Two what?” Ron asked lowly, taking his seat. “Blokes? Didn’t figure you for the type, but then again, I never thought I’d see the day where you were shagging Malfoy.”

“Enough,” Harry snapped at Ron as he stood to speak. “Do I have to bring Gin up here to babysit you?”

Ron slouched in his seat. “No.”

Hermione remained silent as Harry began his speech, refusing to feed into Ron’s jabbing. Without Harry acting as a buffer, she wasn’t certain she wouldn’t actually hex him. 

“So what is it about him? Hm? You a gold digger now?”

_ Please, if I were a gold digger, I’d’veI’d’ve never dated you…  _ she thought, immediately regretting how awful that sounded in her own head. 

“Can’t think of any other reason you’d shag someone I  _ know  _ you hate.”

_ Never hated him. His aunt, his father… never him. Not truly.  _

“Some fucked psychology if you ask me.”

_ I didn’t.  _

“Shagging the bloke who’s aunt gave you that scar you’re so determined to hide?”

_ Stop it, Ron.  _ Hermione could feel her blood pressure rising, wishing the Potion of Potential had lasted longer.

“You still picking at it?”

_ Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it…  _

“Or do you have him carve it back in for you?” 

Her heart pounded in her ears, her left forearm on fire as he spoke. _ Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it…  _

“Freaky fetish that is,” Ron’s words cut through the white noise that was slowly consuming her. “Between that and that finger-tapping thing you used to do that drove me batty—”

“SHUT THE HELL UP!” Hermione snapped loud enough for Harry to pause his speech. She stood abruptly, her seat hitting the person behind her.

Ron smirked. “You  _ know _ you’ve got a hickey on your neck, right?” he announced for the hall to hear. Hermione’s hand flew to her neck, shame washing over her face. “Tell me. Did you both apparate here right out of his bed? Is that why your hair looks like a bird’s nest?”

Shocked gasps came from the audience, McGonagall standing from her chair. “Ron,” Harry snapped, his projected voice catching both his and Hermione’s attention. Rather than wait for another look of sympathy, she turned on her heel to leave. 

“That’s it!” Ron stood, shouting after her. “Run away! That’s what you do, innit?!” 

Tears filled her eyes as her heels skittered across the stone, the crowd gossiping loudly as she tried to not  _ actually  _ run from the scene. Hermione nearly tripped, catching herself before she fell. 

Behind her, she could vaguely hear Ginny yelling at her older brother, McGonagall saying something to Harry. 

Draco stood, his chair scraping the floor with a screech. Hermione stopped in her path, looking up to him through blurry eyes.

_ No. God’s why? I don’t want you to see me like this. Last night was enough.  _

“Let’s go.” He motioned his head towards the door. She saw him say the words but couldn’t hear him, the roar of her blood drowning out the sound of the hall. She forced one leg in front of the other, her heels catching on the stone yet again. He rushed to the aisle, taking her hand in his. 

_ Breathe… Breathe… Can’t… Breathe…  _

Daylight blinded her as he led her to the courtyard, the warmth of his hand unbearably comforting.

_ Not… now… Potion’s in my other bag…  _

Hermione stopped, crouching down to force herself to breathe. Draco let go of her hand, kneeling by her side. “Look at me, Granger.” She could barely make out his words. “Look at me.” She shook her head, gasping for shallow breaths. 

_ “You still picking at it?”  _ Ron’s words echoed in her head. Her hand gripped her left forearm, nails digging into the black fabric of her long sleeves.

“You need to breathe,” Draco’s words seemed so far away. 

_ One… one… one… one…  _ she began to hyperventilate, her left hand twitching as she brought herself to tap her index finger to her thumb. 

“One. Two. Three. Four,” Draco counted for her, motioning to inhale deeply. 

_ “That’s it! Run away! That’s what you do...”  _ Hermione choked on the spit in her throat, coughing through burning lungs.  _ One… one…  _

“Granger!” Draco’s voice boomed in her head, piercing her thoughts. Her nails scratched across her forearm through the fabric. “Look at me!” He reached out, grabbing her by the shoulders.

Hermione looked up, her stare going right through him. “I have… to go,” she sobbed. “I can’t. I can’t do this. I can’t be here. I thought I could, but I can’t.”

“Then let’s go.”

“I can’t.” She shook her head, tears running down her face. “The memorial and Harry and—”

“Fuck Potter.”

“Minerva—”

“Will forgive you.”

_ They’ll never forgive me. I ran. I ran. I ran. I ran…  _

“Come with me,” Draco squeezed her shoulders, a plea in his eyes. 

“I can’t. Last night was…” she inhaled shallowly. “And you were…” She inhaled again. “I can’t.” She shook her head, fingers digging into her scar, hanging her head. 

_ Crazy. He’s going to think I’m mad… Just like Ron… Just like the healers… One… One…  _

“Breathe, Granger.” Draco pulled her into a hug, his fingers working into her hair, freeing it of the elastic band. Hermione curled into his chest, crying against him as his fingers raked out her unruly locks. 

_ One… Two…  _

“I’m not leaving you alone,” he whispered into her hair, massaging the back of her head. 

_ Three… Four…  _

“Why not?” she choked out. 

“Because I’ve been where you are.” He ducked to try to get into her line of sight. “Alone is the last thing you need to be.”

“I don’t need help,” she whispered.  _ One… Two… Three… Four…  _ Her nail picked at the corner of the scab beneath her dress.

Hermione heard footsteps behind her Draco looked up, pulling her into his shoulder. “Load of help you are,” he bit out. 

She went to see who he was speaking to, but Draco held her head firmly against him, the sound of his heartbeat somehow calming her own. He looked back down at her, his other hand wrapping over hers as she tried to pick at her scar. “You need breakfast.” His words were kind, contradicting the storm of mercury in his eyes. 

She tried to shake her head, her breathing finally settling. 

“Potion’s worn off. I can tell. Means you just have three shots of tequila sitting on an empty stomach.” Draco gave her a soft smile. 

“This isn’t your problem.  _ I’m  _ not your problem.”

“No. But you’re making me a liar.”

Hermione blinked, exhaling the pent up breath she’d been building. “What?”

“I promised you breakfast. I intend to deliver. Doesn’t matter where.”

“I need a shower. And to not be in  _ this.” _ She pulled loosely at her dress. 

“Done and done.”

“Does your hotel serve waffles?”

Draco smirked, helping Hermione to her feet. “Best waffles in London.” He pulled her into a hug, kissing the top of her head before they disapparated with a crack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so so so so much! 
> 
> While I have a clear path/plot that this is following there is a 85% chance that my overactive shipping mind is going to keep this one going for a while! 
> 
> That said, I'm knocking these ch's out relatively fast but I do have some bigger works I need to focus on and finish for other fandoms. If you don't see an update next week yell at me in the kindest way possible and I'll get my ass in gear ;) 
> 
> @crystymre on twitter  
> @cmdunaway on tumblr  
> @crystymre_writes on IG 
> 
> Love y'all!


	5. Chapter 5

✣ ✣ ✣

Draco and Hermione apparated inside his hotel suite with a pop, his arms still around her. “Thank you,” she breathed, just loud enough for him to make out. Silver eyes poured into hers as she looked up, seeing a kindness she’d never have expected on his face. 

Holding onto her for half a second longer than necessary, he stepped back. “Anything more besides waffles?” 

“Just a shower,” she wrapped her arms around herself, missing the warmth of his chest. _My clothes are with my notes,_ she remembered. “I don’t have a change of clothes in my bag.”

“Sessy!” Draco shouted, causing Hermione to jump. With a small crack, a house-elf appeared. Hermione eyed the elf, caught off guard by the amount of jewelry she was wearing. She’d seen a wide variety of freed elves since the end of the war, but none were quite as _accessorized._ Sporting a fuchsia leopard print smock Sessy was easily the most styled elf she had ever come across. 

“Yeah, whaddya want?” Sessy turned to Draco, her voice drawling in a thick accent. 

“Miss Granger needs her luggage,” Draco said firmly, his jaw tense. “I can’t leave, so I was wondering if you’d be a lamb and—”

Sessy turned to Hermione. “You!” Her eyes went wide. “I knows that mug! You’re Hermione Granger! Broad who slapped this one.” Sessy jabbed her thumb towards Draco. “Whattaya doing with this schmuck?”

Hermione couldn’t help the involuntary bark of laughter that escaped her, tension easing out of her body. “Nice to meet you, Sessy,” she smiled, extending her hand. 

“Would ya look at that? This one has manners.” Sessy glared at Draco, shaking Hermione’s hand. 

“That’s because she hasn’t had to live with _you_ for the last four years.” Draco’s brow arched as a smirk spread across his face. 

“Whaddya need love?” she asked Hermione, ignoring Draco.

“Just a change of clothes.” Hermione bit her lip to keep from laughing.

“I can see why,” Sessy said, hand on her hip. “Black really ain’t ya color. Ought to try greens, make your eyes pop.”

“Ha!” Draco roared triumphantly.

“Shut it, you.” She turned to glare at him. “Morbid, funeral attire havin—”

“Sessy,” Draco warned. 

“Whatya gonna do?”

“Don’t tempt me. I go down, we both go down.” Draco eyed her.

“Yeah, whatever,” Sessy scoffed. “Where ya stayin’ doll?”

“The Leaky Cauldron,” Hermione answered, barely holding back her laughter for Draco’s sake. 

“That slum? Place is a dump. Makes Jersey look like a destination paradise.”

Sessy popped back out of existence. “So… that’s Sessy,” Draco clicked his tongue. 

“Sessy is sassy.” Hermione grinned, appreciating the house-elf on untold levels. 

“That’s one word for it,” he half-smiled. “Right. You remember where the bathroom is. Should be clean towels. I’ve a few calls to make unless you wanted to take me up on my earlier offer?” His eyes flashed playfully.

“Fruit.”

“Hmm?”

“Could I have some fruit as well? Blueberries, things of that sort?”

“You can have whatever you’d like, Granger.” Draco walked towards the room service menu.

“Draco?” He stopped, glancing over, caught off guard by her use of his first name. “Thank you. For getting me out of there.”

“Any reason to be the talk of the town,” he raised his brows playfully. 

“Thank you,” Hermione blushed before turning to disappear into the hotel suite. 

Walking to the ensuite kitchen, Draco readied another pot of coffee before calling downstairs to room service. “Yes, hello. Is the kitchen still open for breakfast? Wonderful. Two orders of the waffles.” A loud knock came from the door. “Bowl of fruit. Sausage. Bacon.” The knocking persisted, getting louder with each rap. “Just send two full spreads, yeah? Thank you.” Draco slammed the receiver down, thankful he could hear the shower being turned on. 

“I’m going to maim you, Th—” Draco swung the door open. “Potter? Here to arrest me for illegally disapparating off of those hallowed Hogwarts grounds?”

“Move,” Harry pushed past him into the hotel suite, ignoring him.

“Do come in,” he bit sarcastically. 

“Where is she?”

“Who?” Draco taunted.

“You bloody well know who,” Harry shot him an indignant look. 

“The Queen? Buckingham, likely. Unless she’s away on holiday. I’d check the highlands if that’s the case.”

_**Play nice, Draco.** _

“You know perfectly well I am talking about Hermione.” _Asshole._

Draco smirked, relishing the rise he was getting out of Harry. “In the shower. Can’t imagine the Cauldron has the best water pressure.”

“Cauldron?” Harry turned towards him, confused. 

“Where she’s staying… Honestly, Potter. Call yourself her friend? Not only do you let the Weasel pop off like that, but you don’t even know where she’s staying?”

“I didn’t _let_ Ron do anything,” Harry growled. _Have half a mind to let his sister hex him..._

“You didn’t stop him either,” Draco tisked, waving his finger. 

“I had him kicked out of the service.”

“Before or after Granger had an anxiety attack?”

“A what?”

“Merlin, you truly are dense, aren’t you? Tell me, does Granger frequently storm out of important functions to collapse mere seconds later?”

“I want to talk to her.”

“Be my guest.” Draco waved his hand flippantly towards the bathroom. “See if she can break down into hysterics _twice_ before noon.”

“Is this some kind of redemption for you?” Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Save the girl you tortured?”

Years of practice and self-control stopped Draco from reaching for his wand. _“I_ didn’t torture her,” he said cooly.

“No, you’re right. That was your batshit aunt. _You_ just terrorized and bullied her for years before you let your family have a crack at her.”

His fingers twitched. “You’re _really_ trying to push the terms of my release, aren’t you?”

“What is it? Hm? What do you want with her? Think you can save her or something?”

“She doesn’t need _saving,”_ Draco spat. “She needs bloody therapy.”

Harry paused, his stance defused as he took a step back from Draco. “I tried to get her to go for years,” he mumbled, rubbing his hands on his face. 

“Crack job.”

Sessy appeared beside Harry with a pop, causing him to jump. “Place is a dump. Had to fight a rat just to get her hairbrush back!” Sessy turned. “Harry.”

“Sessy.” Harry acknowledged the house-elf. “Why do you have Hermione’s things?” he eyed the familiar luggage. 

“She has Granger’s things because she forgot a change of clothes in that damned extendable charm of hers,” Draco scowled. “Thank you, Sessy.”

“Didn’t do it for you, ya louse.” Sessy disappeared once more.

Harry sighed, getting back to his point. “What are you getting at, Malfoy?”

“I’m not _getting_ at anything, Potter. She needed help. Didn’t see any of you stepping up. Least of all you.”

**_Draco!_ **

“So you brought her back to your hotel?”

“Best waffles in London,” Draco smirked. 

On cue, a knock came from the open door. “Mr. Malfoy?”

“Bloody hell, that was fast,” Draco commented, walking across the space towards the waiter. “Lovely, yes. You can set it out on the balcony. Splendid morning for it.” Draco plucked the copy of the Prophet off of the cart as it rolled by. 

**BREAKING: Publically Humiliated Hermione Granger Flees Hogwarts Memorial Ceremony**

**Shortly after presenting speeches, jilted lover Ronald Weasley was spotted shouting at ex-fiance, Hermione Granger. The heroine left hand in hand with her new beaux Draco Malfoy. Mr. Weasley was not available to comment.**

“This,” Draco tossed the paper towards Harry, “isn’t helping things. Why don’t you use some of that _chosen-one_ influence and do something about this? Hmm?”

 _Still a right prick…_ “Freedom of the press—”

“Isn’t constitutional in wizarding Europe.” Draco handed the waiter a few galleons as he left. 

“You’ve _really_ been hitting those legal books, haven’t you? Finding loopholes to your situation?” _Thank Merlin, he’s in the states and somebody else’s problem._

“As much as I appreciate your sudden interest in what I do with all the spare time the Ministry has _gifted_ me, I do politely ask you to sod off. My breakfast is getting cold, and Granger should be out of the shower any moment.”

“I’m warning you,” Harry stepped towards Draco, finger pointed. “Hurt her, and I can guarantee you the full might of the Ministry _will_ come down on your head.”

“You threaten the Weasel like this?” Draco raised his brow, a knowing smirk on his face.

 _No, but I’m about to…_ “I mean it.”

“I know,” Draco stepped towards him. “I have no doubt the Gryffindor in you is just _dying_ to put me in my place.” Harry rolled his eyes, turning to leave. “Skeeter?”

“Consider it handled,” Harry left the suite, forcefully shutting the door behind him. 

“Malfoy?” Hermione’s voice echoed from the bathroom. “Who’s here?”

“Room service,” Draco called out, pulling his tie off. “Care to eat on the balcony?”

“There’s a balcony?” 

“Take it you didn’t notice when my face was between your legs?”

Draco couldn’t help but smile at the sound of laughter coming from his bathroom. 

✣ ✣ ✣

“These are divine,” Hermione nearly moaned at the buttery Belgian melting in her mouth. Freshly showered and changed, she sat with her knees up to her chest in a very unladylike manner. 

“Told you,” Draco smirked, popping a blueberry into his mouth, leaning back casually in his chair. 

The two sat out on the balcony, overlooking downtown London’s lunch rush. 

“So, Sessy… ?” she eyed him with a smile. 

“A _free_ elf,” he pointed his fork at her.

 _No question about that._ “From New York?”

“Brooklyn. And how she loves to brag about that.”

“Have you been?”

“To Brooklyn? Few times.”

Hermione sat, chewing her waffle pensively. “It occurs to me that I know absolutely nothing about you.”

“Not much to tell, really,” Draco shrugged. “You know about the divorce. Not much more to it than that,” he stabbed at his waffle, looking out towards the skyline. 

“I’m sure there’s more to you than that,” she arched a brow, taking another bite of waffle. 

**_She’s perceptive, Draco._ **

“Do you really want to know?” he asked, looking up at her with curiosity.

“Yes.” She sounded surprised. “If for no other reason than curiosity’s sake.” _That and to justify having slept with someone who is essentially a stranger._

“Fine. Question for question, though.”

“Alright. Where do you live?”

“Vermont.”

“You live in the states?”

“Tsk-tsk, Granger. Can’t bend the rules this early in the game,” he feigned indignance, earning a glare from Hermione. “Where do _you_ live?”

“Australia,” she smirked. 

“I narrow it down to the state, and you give me an entire continent?”

“Brisbane,” she smiled. “The Potion of Potential. You made it.”

“That’s a statement,” he teased.

 _“Did_ you make the potion?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know how rare that potion is?! It has only been brewed under Felix Felicis. Which is _also_ extremely rare.”

“Huh, how about that?” Draco took a bite of his toast, smiling smugly. “My turn. Favorite subject at school?”

“Runes.”

“Nerd.”

“Assuming you were under Felicis when you made it, I can assume you make a variety of potions?”

“You _assume_ a lot. But yes. Favorite place you’ve traveled?”

“Italy,” Hermione sat up, leaning forward. “Do you sell them? The potions you make?”

“Some. Not that one, though.”

“Why not?”

“Pushy, pushy,” he clicked his tongue. “What do you do?”

“Cursebreaker,” Hermione answered without a beat, focused on her line of questioning. 

“Interesting.”

“Not really,” she waved her hands. “Which ones do you sell?”

“Are you a narc?”

“Going to answer the question?”

“No. I’m not. Doctor-patient privilege.”

“Yeah, because _you’re_ a doctor,” Hermione eyed him skeptically.

“Actually…” 

“Wait. You’re a doctor?” Hermione blinked, confused. 

“Just finished my residency.”

“What? How? You’re only twenty-four. A residency is at least three years. Medical school four…” 

“Amazing what you can accomplish when the Ministry more or less has you under house arrest,” Draco’s tone was light for the sarcastic words.

“What do you plan to be a doctor of?”

“You’ve asked far too many questions in a row,” Draco lectured. “What’s your favorite snack?”

“Cut the shit, Malfoy,” Hermione dropped her fork. “You can’t just drop ‘hey, I’m a doctor’ and then not tell me more.”

“Sure, I can. But if you _must_ know, I am studying to be a neuropharmacologist.”

“Wow.” Hermione found herself impressed yet again. “How did you end up down that path?”

“I had intended to be a psychiatrist but found the physical makeup of the human brain much more fascinating than the behavioral side. Ended up doing a double major in neuropsychiatry.”

“So you’re a shrink who gets to play with drugs?”

“Oversimplification, but yeah.”

“Is that why…?” Hermione connected the dots between what he’d just told her and the breathing exercises he had coached her through earlier. “Is that why you helped me?”

“No,” he answered curtly. “I helped you because no one else did. Didn’t see Saint Potter didn’t step up. The Weaselette didn’t rush to your side. Even Looney Love—”

“Don’t call her that!”

“She doesn’t mind.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Point is, I saw you hurting, so I helped. I didn’t try to psychoanalyze you as you rushed through the Great Hall.”

“I could have handled it on my own,” she said quietly, avoiding his gaze as shame washed over her face. 

“Fine, I’ll let you suffer next time,” Draco bit.

**_You apologize right now, Draco!_ **

Draco sat silently, listening to her sort through her thoughts. “You’re right.” She looked up a few minutes later. “I’m just—” she cut herself off. _First bloke you have sex with in years just happens to study personality disorders…_ “Thank you. For being there.”

Draco simply nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. 

The chilled autumn wind kicked up, Hermione shivering as exhaustion took her. _Would it be impertinent to ask to take a nap? “_ Can… can we go inside?” 

“Of course.” He stood, setting his napkin on his plate. He followed Hermione towards the bedroom, letting her lay as he drew the curtains. “Better?”

“Yes, thank you.” _Wonder if he would let me lay beside him? Would that be too much to ask? Probably._

Draco walked to the other side of the bed, kicking off his shoes and uncuffing his sleeves before laying down. Patting the space beside him, Hermione curled into it, resting her head in the soft of his shoulder. Her body relaxed into his, her arm across his chest as their hands found another’s, fingers lacing. 

Charming the remote to his free hand, he pushed a button, a panel in the far wall dropping down to reveal a television. 

“This hotel has tellys?”

“Muggle integration,” he shrugged gently. “What’ll it be? Pride and Prejudice? Constantine? March of the Penguins?” He chuckled with the last one. 

“You don’t have to do this.” Hermione’s grip on his tightened. 

“I don’t _do_ anything I don’t want to. Privilege of being a Malfoy.”

“Surely you have something better to do than lay about watching movies with me?”

“You mean besides hunt the Weasel down and hex him?” he said, his voice flat. “Oh, Wedding Crashers. Hadn’t thought that was on pay-per-view yet.”

“Who _are_ you?” Hermione laughed softly.

“A changed man,” he answered honestly. A million thoughts flashed through Hermione’s mind, all of the emotion she had felt in the last twenty-four hours, how he wasn’t the person she’d thought he was. 

Letting go of his hand, she sat up, eyes on his arm, staring at the dark mark beneath the fabric. “Can… can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“The tattoos…” 

Draco sat up to unbutton his shirt. “Did you know there is no way to remove a dark mark? No way to alter it or disguise it?” He shrugged out of the black fabric, turning back towards her, chest exposed. He’d thought he’d see fear or apprehension in Hermione’s eyes, but he only saw intrigue. Holding his forearms out, he let her take in the patchwork of ink he had become. “Scars made of Dark Magic cannot fade completely.”

_I know._

“So I decided to add to it. With Muggle means, of course.”

Hermione reached out, touching the image closest to the dark mark. It was the Astronomy Tower. A full moon. A wand on the floor... the Elder Wand. “Was this…?” _Dumbledore._

“Yes.”

“And this one?” A tower. A prison. Surrounded by fierce dark ocean waters. 

“Spent three months awaiting trial.” Hermione’s fingers weaved between shadowed images, scenes she recognized and some she didn’t. Her fingers traced across something familiar, pulling at the back of her memory. A chandelier. _The_ chandelier from his drawing-room. “Does it bother you?”

 _Yes._ “No,…” she lied. 

“Be honest.”

“The memory bothers me. Not the tattoo. It’s actually quite beautiful.” The pad of her finger circled the shape of the fallen fixture. _I wonder if they hung it back up after we ran?_

**_Tell her, Draco._ **

“Did the same person design all of these?” Hermione asked softly, finding herself drawn to the images.

“Mostly. There’s a few I drew myself.”

“Which ones?”

“Here,” he rotated his arm, a silver snitch covering his elbow. “And here,” his family crest ran down his right forearm. “And here,” he turned, pointing to his shoulder blade—the only tattoo with any color. Blues, purples, and blacks all melded like watercolor across the winged serpent. 

“What is it?”

“Amphiptere.”

“A dragon?” _Well, of course, that makes sense. Think, Granger._

“It was my mother’s Patronus,” Draco said softly, not looking back at her. He pulled his wand from its inner pant pocket, swishing it in the air. “Expecto Patronum.” The words seemed sad as he said them, a bright small dragon slipping from the tip of his wand to fly about the room gracefully. 

_How is he pulling the charm from such a sad memory? Is_ **_this_ ** _his happiest memory?_ Hermione pondered the thought.

He lowered his wand, the Patronus fizzling out without intention. “I only managed to do that a couple of years back.”

“Your mother must have been so proud.”

“She died before she could see it.”

“I’m sor—” she caught herself. “I’m sure she would have loved it.”

“Thank you.” He forced a smile, turning back to her. 

“You said a Muggle drew the rest?” Hermione switched subjects, seeing that their turn in conversation had bothered him. 

“The tattooist was a Muggle. Artist is a witch. A friend actually.”

“Her work is beautiful.”

“I’ll be sure to tell her.” The two locked eyes, silver on toffee, their fingers lacing together on the bed. Hermione found herself stifling a yawn. “Movie time,” Draco shifted, letting Hermione rest on him once more. Picking up the remote, he clicked through the on-screen selections, choosing March of the Penguins to fall asleep to. 

Hermione’s mind wandered as the movie started, recalling the events that had led to her and Ron getting together versus the happen-stance of her and Draco. With Ron, it had felt inevitable, though, at the time, she had convinced herself it was fate to some degree. With Draco, it was a pull, an unforeseen magnetism that attracted her to him, a spark she never could have anticipated. 

If she were being honest with herself, the two couldn’t be any less alike. Clingy versus confident. Taking versus giving. Wrong versus right, depending on the topic. Draco was everything she needed Ron to be, _wanted_ Ron to be. 

Hermione’s brows furrowed, feeling guilty at the thought. _Don’t project one on the other like that,_ she thought to herself. _Ron was a manipulative drunk who only truly cared about himself. If he had truly loved me, the way I needed to be loved, he would have quit drinking when I begged him._

She remembered the night vividly. He’d come back to the apartment, incomprehensibly drunk. It hadn’t been the first time, wouldn’t be the last. He’d started drinking shortly after the war ended, more and more every day. He’d only sober up when Kingsley or Harry demanded it. That particular night, like so many before and so many after, Hermione had to get him to bed, stripping him of vomit-stained clothes, endure his drunken groping, and charm him into a decent night’s sleep. It wasn’t until a couple of hours later that he woke abruptly, yelling at her. Blaming her. 

He had wanted a baby so badly.

_“You’re doing something, aren’t ya?”_

_“What? No!”_

_“Gimme your wand. Prove to me you’re not using charms or something.”_

_“Absolutely not!”_

By the time she’d discovered the truth of how far Ron’s obsession had gone, it was too late. They’d been fighting so much… To have Molly and Arthur turn on her like that…

_“My son would never do something like that.”_

_“I am telling you it’s true. I can prove it.”_

_“You’re doing_ **_something_ ** _. Muggle contraceptives?”_

No matter what, it was always her fault. Harry had barely believed her. Ginny hadn’t said a word. In the end, she ended up telling everything to a mind healer she’d been forced to see.

 _I wonder what he’d say?_ Hermione shifted in Draco’s arms. _Hate’s Ron enough he’d probably believe just about anything._

“You okay?” Draco asked, kissing the side of her head. 

“Thinking.”

“Dangerous,” he chuckled. 

_Just his laugh puts me at ease… He told me part of his story… And there are so few people left in the world that could understand…_ “If I tell you something, will you promise to keep it between us? Not analyze it? Just listen? As a friend?”

“As a friend.”

Hermione inhaled deeply, Draco waiting patiently. “Ron wasn’t always… he became very unkind towards the end,” Hermione spoke quietly, her hand over Draco’s heart. “He had no patience for my fits. He coped with alcohol, you see. Not well, I might add. The more he drank, the more numb I became. Though if you ask him, I’ve been numb since the beginning.” She exhaled, gathering her thoughts. “I haven’t cried since Dobby’s funeral. Not until last night, that is.”

Draco tensed at the mention of his former house-elf’s name but continued to listen. 

“Ron always held that over my head. That I’d cried for Dobby but not his brother. It wasn’t that I wasn’t sad when Fred died. I was devastated. I just didn’t have any tears left to cry. I had become cold.”

 _“You’re an ice queen. That’s what you are. Can’t cry for your dead friends. Can’t cry for my dead brother. But you’ll cry over a dead elf?”_ Ron’s words haunted her.

“The more I tried to be okay, to pretend to be okay, the worse things got. But he didn’t care. He wanted to start a family. Wanted to move on. Had Molly knitting baby blankets and—” Hermione paused. “He became obsessed. To the point that he started drugging me.”

Draco’s jaw tightened. “Drugging you?” he asked, trying to keep his tone even. He’d suspected, but the memories were buried deep within. 

“It was when I started brewing calming draughts. We had so many speaking engagements and charity functions… he’d gotten a Potioneer to brew him a fertility tonic. Started slipping it into my vials.”

“How did you find out?”

“By accident. I knocked the workbench. Potions went everywhere. I’d had some monkshood drying and—”

“It reacted with the Asphodel in the fertility tonic,” Draco drew conclusions as to the explosive nature the two would have with the ingredients in the calming draught. 

“Exactly,” Hermione sighed. “Never even apologized. Said it was for my own good. Worst thing is, _everybody_ sided with him. Molly, Arthur…”

“Potter?”

“Harry refused to get involved. Said he wouldn’t choose sides between us. I don’t blame him.”

“I do,” Draco nearly growled. “Even in the wizarding community, it’s illegal to drug someone like that. _Auror_ Potter should know better.”

“Honestly, it was the last straw. I had fallen out of love with him long before that, if it even was love. Part of me thinks it was familiarity, comfort. I had known him, been by his side -by Harry’s side since we were eleven.” She paused, flashes of happier times at Hogwarts giving her cause to smile. “I didn’t pack bags. I just left him a note and disappeared.”

“Why Australia?”

“My parents.” She stopped, darker images trying and failing to come to the surface. 

Draco didn’t want to push the subject nor his legilimency. “Granger,” his fingers tightened around hers. “You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to.”

“I—” _He deserves an explanation… they all deserve an explanation..._

“You don’t owe anyone anything. Least of all me.”

Hermione shifted in the bed, looking up at him. “You’re going to make a great shrink,” she laughed softly. 

“Neuropharmacologist,” he corrected her. “Should have lied and told you I was studying to become an obstetrician or pediatrician.”

“I’m being serious!” Hermione nudged him. “You’re surprisingly easy to talk to.”

“Surprisingly, huh?” Draco rolled over top of her, playfully pinning her to the bed. “Friends are meant to be easy to talk to!”

“We’re friends?” she laughed out, squirming beneath him. 

“Well, my tongue _was_ inside that tight cunt of yours,” he remarked, sitting back. “We’re something.”

“If that’s the only necessary qualification, then I could argue that you’re my only friend in this world,” she smirked. 

“Damn shame that is.” Draco smiled. “I will say that I find you mildly less irritating yet more intelligent than those that would have me spend my time with them.”

“Your Slytherin chums?” Hermione teased.

“And chumettes.”

“So I am a _tolerable_ distraction then?”

“Your words.”

“Fine.”

“Fine?” His brow arched. 

“Fine,” she repeated. 

“And I am?”

“Adequate.”

Draco threw himself back on the bed, clutching his heart. “I am not long for this world! Tell Theo the car is his!”

“Must you be so overly dramatic?” Hermione laughed, shoving him lightly.

“I’m nothing if not a showman.” He flashed her a grin. 

_I’ll say…_

“Come’ere.” He rolled back into a comfortable position, letting Hermione nuzzle in beside him. Pushing her unruly locks out of his face, he wrapped himself around her, hand in hers once more. Happy and content thoughts filled her as the pair drifted off to sleep together.

✣ ✣ ✣

Hermione woke some hours later, the sun already beginning to set. Lazily stretching, she slipped out of his hold, trying her best to not wake him. His face was more peaceful than she could have imagined, an innocence washed over it as he slept. 

Her stomach growled, compelling her toward the room service menu. Someone had been in to clear their late breakfast, the two missing lunch altogether. Deciding on seared ahi, feeling guilty at the price tag, she called down. 

“Good evening, Madame Granger,” the man on the other end of the line spoke in a thick Parisian accent. 

_They knew she was here?_ A mix of emotions shot through her at the thought.

“Uhm, yes. Hello. I was wondering if I might order room service?”

“But of course. What would ze mademoiselle like?”

“The seared ahi, Gorgonzola salad, and the buttered croissants?” Hermione realized just how hungry she was, her mouth-watering slightly at the food’s descriptions in the menu. 

“And for Monsieur?”

“Oh.” _Hadn’t thought about that._

“I believe he was fond of ze wagyu his first-night ‘ere?”

“Yes. That’ll do.”

_How much was this going to set me back?_

“Very well. Ze dinner and ze wine will be up momentarily.” The man on the other end hung up. 

_Wine?_

Hermione walked back towards the room, Draco still asleep, before casting a silencing charm over the room. Picking up the phone, she called Harry. 

“Hullo?” Hermione heard Ginny’s voice over a screaming infant. 

“Ginny?”

“Mione! Harry! It’s Hermione!” Ginny squealed, the sheer pitch of it reminiscent of Molly’s. “He’s in the loo. Are you okay?”

“Fine. Promise.”

“Tell me this _Draco Malfoy_ thing isn’t true.” Ginny’s tone told Hermione exactly what she thought of the situation. 

“I won’t apologize.”

Ginny sighed. “I don’t want you to apologize. I just want to know what’s going on in that thick skull of yours.”

“He was there when I needed him.” She paused. “He doesn’t hold me on some pedestal, nor does he pity me for my anxiety attacks.”

“And the sex?” Ginny asked. Hermione coughed, unsure how to answer her ex-fiancé’s sister. “At least tell me it’s good, so I can not hate you for shacking up with the Ferret.”

“Shacking up? Who’s shacking up?” Hermione’s thoughts drifted back to the man that had taken her order, curious if the entire Wizarding World knew she was in Draco Malfoy’s hotel room. 

“Harry went to the hotel to see if you were okay,” Ginny said, answering Hermione’s unspoken question.

_When had Harry been here?_

“Did he—”

“No one knows but me. I swear it.”

It was Hermione’s turn to sigh. “The sex is amazing.”

“Yeah?” She could hear Ginny’s spirit lift. 

“Best of my life,” she admitted, honestly. 

“I always had a theory he was great in bed,” Ginny laughed. 

“You bloody well did not!”

“Did so! No one who broods that much and dresses that well is a louse in the sack.”

Hermione laughed, “He denied the brooding.”

“He would.”

“I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too. Don’t be a stranger, yeah? I’ll gladly hex my brother if it means seeing you.”

“I appreciate that.”

“Oh hey, here’s Harry.” Hermione heard the phone being handed over. 

“Hey,” Harry’s voice came through the receiver.

“Stopped by and didn’t say hello?”

“You were in the shower.”

_That made sense. Wonder what Harry and Draco talked about..._

“Look,” Harry began. “I get it. Okay?”

“You do?” Hermione found that hard to believe. 

“Ron was being a right git.”

“Yes, he was.”

“I should have stopped him.”

“Yes, you should have.”

“I’m sorry, Hermione. I truly am. I know I said I wouldn’t get in the middle of this, but he has gone too far.”

 **_Now_ ** _it’s too far?_

“I appreciate it, Harry, but—”

“I warded him out of the house,” Harry said abruptly.

“Wait. You warded him out?”

“Sick of him crashing here when he’s too pissed to make it back to his own flat.”

“Where is he now?” Hermione found herself asking. 

“Burrows, I think,” Harry answered. “I know nothing will undo the damage he and I have done. But I don’t want to lose my only sensible friend.”

_Like you could._

“Have lunch with us? We can get Molly to watch Albus. You can even bring Malfoy.”

“And you won’t hex him?”

“No.”

“Jinx?”

“Nope.”

“Curse?”

“You get I’m on the _good_ side of the law, right?”

“Fine. I’ll ask him if he’d like to go.”

“Sunday?”

“I’m not making any promises.”

“Okay.”

A knock came from the door. 

“Good night, Harry.”

“See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Oh, Harry? I might ask Malfoy to sit beside me. I trust Ron won’t be making a scene about it?”

“I’ll see to it.”

Hermione hung up the phone to answer the door, the waiter rolling a cart in. “Where, Miss?”

“Oh. Here is fine?”

“Very good.” The small man quickly uncorked a bottle of red and a bottle of white, earning a look from her. “To complement the fish,” he said, gesturing the white towards her. 

“Thank you. Uhm, I haven’t any cash on me,” she said, embarrassed, remembering most of her galleons were in her other bag. 

“Not to worry, Miss. Mr. Malfoy is a most generous tipper.”

“The bill?” _Where’s my credit card…_

“Charged to the room, of course.”

_Of course._

“Oh. Thank you then.”

“Good night, Miss.” The man left, softly shutting the door behind him. 

Hermione’s stomach rumbled once more. She walked back towards the room to wake Draco, it only being fair he was awake for dinner since he was paying for it. Countering her charm, she tiptoed back in, the soft light from the hall cast across his face. 

The man truly was beautiful. Sculpted from marble, his features were soft as he snoozed. “Malfoy,” Hermione whispered, crawling onto the bed. She pushed his hair back from his face, fully appreciating how much of Narcissa, and not Lucius, she saw in him. 

Draco jerked from her touch, throwing fisted hands up defensively, Hermione narrowly avoiding being hit. “No!” he shouted, eyes snapping open. Draco stared at her through a cloudy gaze before blinking, recognition hitting him. “Shit,” he lowered his arms. “Bad dream.”

Hermione briefly remembered the first time she’d hit Ron after he’d woken her out of a night terror… the fight that ensued… them sleeping in separate beds for the first time… 

“I’m so sorry, Hermione.”

_Did he just call me…?_

“It’s… it’s fine.” She was more taken aback by how apologetic he was than his jarring reaction to being awakened. “I ordered dinner, if that’s okay?”

“Are you hungry?”

“Starving.”

“Then yes, Granger. You are permitted to eat,” he smirked, sitting upright. 

“How do you go from being so charming to being such a prat?”

“Talent,” he grinned. “Is that steak I smell?”

“Good nose,” Hermione said, impressed. “The man said you’d liked the wagyu?”

“He wasn’t wrong,” Draco stood, throwing his shirt back on loosely. “What’d you get?” He pulled Hermione to him, kissing her cheek. 

“The ahi,” she answered, blinking half a second later at how domestic the scene was. 

“They were bragging about that on my check-in.” Draco buttoned his shirt halfway before walking towards the living room. “Oh good. They remembered the wine.” He stopped to pour a glass for Hermione before filling his own with red. “Care to eat outside again? Brilliant sunset.”

Hermione smiled. “I’d love to.” 

✣ ✣ ✣

Wine bottles empty, dinner all but gone, the pair found themselves back in the bed watching Pride and Prejudice. 

“That Mr. Darcy has _definitely_ got a thing for her,” Draco commented, his thumb tracing small circles in Hermione’s hand. 

“Well, that is entirely the point. Have you not read the book?”

“Haven’t had the chance, to be honest. I always mean to, but I get caught up with, well with life.”

“You ought to read it sometime.”

“Have you got a copy I could borrow?”

“Intending to read it this weekend?”

“Owls can carry books,” he deadpanned. 

“From Brisbane to _Vermont_?”

“You act as if it’s not a real place.”

“I just find it hard to believe you live there of all places. Paris, Milan, New York even—”

Draco shook his head. “Too noisy.”

“Again, that’s the point.” 

“I like the quiet,” he shrugged.

“You continue to surprise me. I feel like I barely know you.”

“We could circle back to our rousing game of twenty questions, but I’d have to amend the rules.”

“To?”

“Each question answered is one less item of clothing.” His eyes flashed. 

“Is that all you think about?” Hermione laughed. 

“Around you? Yes,” Draco smiled at her wickedly. “I have become terribly addicted to the notion.”

“We’ve only shagged once!”

“That should prove just how intoxicating you are,” he purred.

“Malfoy,” Hermione began. 

“Granger.”

“I have a proposition.”

“I am _all_ ears.”

“Come to the Heroes Luncheon with me tomorrow.”

“Ok?”

“I can owl Minerva. Move Ron to another table. Or us to a different table. Either way. He is an idiot, but he wouldn’t publicly cause a scene. It’d put a damper on that _playboy_ lifestyle,” she bit out her last sentence.

“On one condition,” Draco said. Hermione looked to him questioningly. “Come with me to Theo’s party tomorrow night?”

“Oh, uhm—”

“It’s a masquerade. I keep the Weasel off you; you keep Pansy off me.”

“Don’t want to rekindle that romance?” Hermione asked with a smirk. 

“I don’t know how to nicely say ‘limp fish’ without being cruel.”

“No!” she gasped. 

“Had to charm my cock. So I suppose it was a first in a way.”

“You’re terrible” Hermione shoved him playfully.

“Whereas with you, I was hard the instant I heard your voice in the Ministry…”

“Lies!” She shoved him again. 

“Believe what you will, but you putting Prewitt in her place… throbbing.”

“Shut up!”

“You truly have no idea how insatiably sexy you are.”

“I—” Draco rolled towards her, lips pressed to her neck. “I, uhm…”

“Yes?” he murmured between kisses along her collar bone. 

“Okay,” she gasped. “I’ll go.”

“Brilliant.”

“You’re buying the dress.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” he growled into her.

“Gods,” she moaned, surrendering herself to him. “You’ll have to be polite tomorrow.”

“Some of us went to finishing school,” he licked up the side of her neck. 

“To everyone. Harry, Ginny, …”

“I can play nice for an afternoon.”

“Rita will write about us.”

“Want me to toss her into the Willow?” Draco snaked his hand beneath her sweater, thumb tracing along the underwire of her bra. 

_Yes._ “No,” she laughed. “I’m not worried about what she’d write about me.” Hermione imagined the various headlines Rita might write seeing them together at the luncheon.

“You’re worried about her portraying us as a couple,” he paused.

“Aren’t you?”

“Not particularly seeing as she already has,” he said, remembering the Prophet headline from earlier. “Are you worried I am chasing you for your fame?”

“No.”

“Or that I might feel jilted when I discover the truth that you’re only using me as a rebound?”

“I am not,” Hermione snapped. 

“Then…?”

“You run in more _elite_ circles than I do.”

“Yes. Children of the Death Eaters. Formed a secret society we did. Very snobbish.”

“You’ve always been snobbish.”

“Touche.”

“While a part of me will secretly take delight in rubbing you in Ron’s face—”

“Ew.”

“I worry that I am garnering all of the benefits of this torrid weekend affair.”

“You have _such_ a way with words,” he chuckled.

“You’re not worried about being seen with the girl with the hot mess I’ve become?”

“Hot, yes. Mess, no. Anyone who says otherwise can meet the end of my wand.”

Hermione’s thighs tightened at his words. **_Why_** _is that so sexy?_

With a smirk, Draco rolled his hips into her, eliciting a low moan from her. “Is _that_ what does it for you?” he growled quietly.

“No,” she lied, biting her lip. 

“Your body says differently,” he rolled again. “I’d’ve threatened people on your behalf long ago if I knew it’d get your knickers wet.”

“That’s,” Hermione gasped, fighting the truth, “not true.”

“Lies.”

“Maybe just a little.”

“I’ll take on the world if it puts that look on your face.” His hand wound into her hair, biting gently across her collarbone. 

“Where _have_ you been?”

“Brooding,” he kissed along her jaw, thumb feathering over her nipples beneath the thin shirt.

“The weekend,” Hermione gasped. _...shag him two more nights before I go home…_

“Yeah?”

“I keep Pansy off of you. You keep him off of me. We give Rita something to write about.”

“If _that’s_ the case,” Draco ducked his head to bite on the top of her shoulder. “Let’s win her a Pulitzer.”

“I’m wearing a strapless tomorrow!” Hermione squealed, pushing him off her. 

“Strapless?”

“Dress? Long sleeves, no shoulders…” 

“So I have that much _more_ canvas to make my mark with?”

“Your mark?” Hermione’s brow arched. 

“Mmmm,” he hummed into her. “Just let me give you a once over before we leave?”

“Am… am I staying here tonight?”

“Did you want to stay?” Hermione blinked. _I don’t want to go…_ “Stay, Granger. I can have Sessy grab the rest of your things.”

“I…”

“Stay.”

_How was he this good? His hand is on my tit, and yet he is being sweeter than I thought any man could be…_

“Fine,” Hermione smiled. “I’ll stay.”

✣ ✣ ✣

Hermione woke in the middle of the night, sore and content, curled up in Draco’s arms. Silver eyes stared back at her in the dimly lit room. “Didn’t mean to wake you,” he whispered, kissing the freckled skin of her shoulder. 

She rolled under him as he rolled over top, bodies warm as legs intertwined. Draco ran his hand down her left arm, lacing his fingers with hers as he pulled it out of the covers. 

Hermione stilled, eyeing her scar. Draco leaned, pressing his lips to it gently. A feeling of calm washed over her rather than the anxiety she’d expected. 

“You are beautiful,” Draco said quietly. “ _All_ of you.”

She wanted to respond with her snippy remarks about Malfoy’s not making compliments but couldn’t find it in her heart to say it. 

He kissed the scar once more before placing another soft kiss on her forehead. “All of you,” he repeated. 

Hermione stifled a cry, emotions overwhelming her. Memories of her parents telling her that she was beautiful as she was bubbled to the surface; the last time she’d believed herself whole, the last time they’d spoken -when they remembered who she was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so so much for all of the wonderful comments! Truly I am just overwhelmed by all of the love and support. I want to take a moment to thank my lovely betas Jasmine, Kate, and Katy who have let me braindump all of my ideas at absurd times of the night while keeping things consistent within the narrative. It is really easy to get caught up in all of this, especially with the plot I have laid out, so having them keeps me grounded. 
> 
> Note that they are also cheering on all of the angsty misery coming your way lol 
> 
> While we are on that note I should explain that everything has a reason. Ron being a dick -there's a reason for it. Harry not siding -there's a reason for it. While it doesn't excuse character flaws it does round out the situation. Unfortunately, the anti-Ron movement hasn't even hit pinnacle yet so prepare for at least two more confrontations with this version of him for now. Some tags will be updated to reflect where I have decided to take his character. Is breaking his character down like this fair? No, not really. But his reasoning is nothing if not human. He is as much a victim of the war as Hermione is. How he chose to cope with the emotions is what defines him in this fic. 
> 
> On a lighter note for those of you just DYING for their first real kiss... I'm keeping you in suspense! I may or may not be skipping a multitude of chapters to write it tonight ;)
> 
> As always follow me on Twitter @crystymre
> 
> Don't hesitate to DM if you have any questions or comments <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I owe a special thanks to @superevey1 for translating my atrocious French into something beautiful! <3 For those of you who don't somehow know who she is you can catch her and her beautiful art on Twitter!

✣ ✣ ✣

**A TRIUMPHANT RETURN: Heroine Hermione Granger Attends Hero Celebration, Arm in Arm With Draco Malfoy**

**The ever-gorgeous Miss Granger was seen entering Hogwarts, escorted by none other than the dashing Draco Malfoy, to attend the Heroes Award Luncheon. The two were seen holding hands and laughing despite her ex-flame Ronald Weasely’s outburst and subsequent removal from the grounds.**

“Play nice,” Hermione warned out of the corner of her mouth as she and Draco crossed onto the Hogwarts grounds. True to his promise Draco concealed any lasting evidence of the night before prior to leaving his hotel. During the process, he’d also charmed his shirt and slacks to better match her, the two seemingly stepping out of a spring catalog from the apparition point. 

“If I behave, do I get a treat?” Draco asked, winding his hand into Hermione’s, leading her out towards the quidditch pitch where the ceremony was being held. 

She smirked, shooting him a look out of the corner of her eye. “Maybe.”

“Then  _ maybe  _ I shall be on my best behavior.” He squeezed her hand, heat gracing her face and core simultaneously. 

Hermione had owled Headmistress McGonagall as she said she would. The elder witch happily moved Ron to another table, leaving Hermione beside Harry and Ginny, joined by Lavender and Neville. “Didn’t she  _ marry  _ the weasel?” Draco gestured to a very pregnant Lavender.

“A couple of years back.” Hermione took a deep breath.  _ I’m surprised she lasted six months…  _

“And now she’s with Longbottom?”

“Unless that baby is someone else’s?” Hermione wracked her brain, trying to remember if anyone had told her about the two even dating. She hadn’t recalled seeing her at the memorial but reminded herself that she had spent most of her time either staring at Draco or scowling at Ron. 

“Hermione!” Lavender squealed, rushing over a hug. “Look at you! You are positively glowing! I am loving this whole matchy-matchy thing you two have going on.” 

Arms wrapped around her, squeezing her tight. “You’re one to speak,” Hermione chuckled nervously, stepping back to tuck an errant strand of hair behind her ear. 

“Oh!” Lavender’s hands flew to her bump. “So, I suppose you noticed?”

“It’d be hard to miss,” Draco quipped, earning an elbow from Hermione.

“How, uh, how far along are you?” Hermione smiled, trying to compose herself. 

“Seven months,” Lavender beamed. “I feel like a whale.”

“Don’t say that, love,” Neville stood by her side, shoving a cracker in his mouth. While Hermione had few memories of the man not being happy, there was something heartwarming about the way he looked at Lavender. 

_ They’re in love…  _

“Congratulations?” Hermione assumed it was the appropriate thing to say. 

“Oh! Yeah, sorry. Haven’t really told a lot of people. We’re—”

“Engaged!” Lavender held her hand out, a modest ring on her left hand.

“It was my Gran’s,” Neville’s smile nearly matched his fiancée’s.

“It’s beautiful,” Hermione took Lavender’s extended hand, admiring the vintage piece. “Congratulations, you two.”

Neville looked to Draco, almost surprised to see him standing there. “Malfoy.”

“Longbottom.”

“Drink?”

“Absolutely.” Draco gave her hand another squeeze before letting go. “Want anything?”

“Something strong?” she smiled with relief at the thought of not standing on a podium next to Ron sober. Neville and Draco walked off in the direction of the bar leaving Hermione with an overjoyed blonde. “So, you and Nev,” she laughed, shaking her head. 

“Yeah.” She bit her lip with a beaming grin. “C’mon sit. We’ve got so much to catch up on.”

✣ ✣ ✣

“You and Mione?” Neville asked, stepping up to the bar. 

“Yep,” Draco answered curtly. “You and… ?” he motioned back towards their table. 

“Yeah,” Neville paused. “What are you drinking?”

“Macallan,” Draco said without skipping a beat. 

“Figured you for an Ogdens man,” Neville eyed him, taking stock of his former bully. 

“Fine brand, to be sure. But if I’m allowed a preference, I’d take Macallan over Ogdens any day.”

“Really? Macallan is a Muggle brand isn’t it?”

“Just across the fault,” he nodded his head in agreement.

“Interesting,” Neville smiled. “Two Macallan’s,” he flagged down the bartender. 

The bartender bent, pulling out two bottles. “Twelve or eighteen years?”

“Eighteen,” Draco answered, tossing a handful of galleons on the bar. 

“I don’t need you to pay for my drink, Malfoy,” Neville said defensively. 

Draco held up his hands as the bartender poured. “That’ll be twelve galleons,” the bartender said to Neville.

“Bit posh then, isn’t it? Some things don’t change,” he eyed Draco.  _ Should’ve guessed just looking at those dragonhide shoes…  _

“It’s six in the states,” Draco commented, tossing a few more galleons on the bar. “And some things  _ do  _ change.” He picked up the rocks glasses, handing one to Neville. 

“That has yet to be determined,” Neville’s eyes narrowed. “To memories,” he cheered pointedly. 

“To new starts,” Draco clinked glasses with him. 

“Bloody hell, that is  _ good,” _ Neville said after his first sip. 

“Told you,” Draco smirked. 

“Alright, rich boy,” Neville reached out, taking Draco’s glass. “How ’bout you grab us that bottle and meet me back at the table?”

“Deal,” Draco agreed, amused, turning to the bartender again. 

Neville carried the glasses back to their table, setting one down in front of Hermione. “Your boyfriend has good taste.”

Hermione blinked at the use of the word. “I suppose he does. Where is he?”

“Buying the bottle for the table,” he circled around her, sitting beside his fiancée. “Macallan. Damn fine whiskey.”

Her jaw dropped. “Have you  _ any  _ idea how expensive that is?”

“At twelve galleons a glass, I can only imagine.”

“Twelve galleons!” Lavender exclaimed, shocked at the sticker price. “Let me have a taste.”

“Lav—”

“Oh, please. Your Gran drank firewhisky the entire time she was pregnant. Told me so herself.”

“Yes, well, my Gran was a loon, and contrary to popular belief, fetal alcohol syndrome does affect wizarding births.”

“Party pooper,” Lavender stuck her tongue out at him. 

“I’ll have Malfoy buy us another when the baby comes. Assuming that this is a  _ thing  _ between you two?” he looked to Hermione. 

“It’s not  _ not  _ a thing,” she shrugged. 

“What’s not not a thing?” Hermione heard Harry ask as he and Ginny sat at the table. She looked over, surprised to find Harry properly dressed up in a casual grey suit, not unlike Draco’s. 

“Draco and I.”

“Draco?” A Cheshire grin spread across Ginny’s face. “Not Malfoy?” 

“Yes,” Hermione tried to not sound defensive. 

“And where is  _ Draco  _ ?” she teased.

“Buying a bottle for the table that Neville talked him into,” Lavender bit out.

“Don’t be bitter, Lav,” he smiled. 

“Oh, I’m gonna be,” she petulantly crossed her arms over her bump.

Ginny reached across, snatching Hermione’s glass. “Hey!”

“Oh bloody hell,” Ginny nearly moaned, sipping the whiskey. “That is good.”

“Right?” Neville held up his glass. 

“Try some,” Ginny passed it to Harry. 

“Oh, damn,” he exclaimed, finishing the contents. “Man has taste,” he admitted despite himself. 

“That’s what I said,” Neville mulled his own words over in a fleeting moment of shock.

“Well, of course, he does,” Ginny rolled her eyes, playfully hitting Harry on the arm. “He’s dating Hermione, innit he?”

Harry and Neville held up their glasses. “To Hermione.”

“Not supposed to toast with an empty glass, Potter,” Draco made his way to the table. 

“My favorite ferret!” Ginny cheered, seeing the bottles in his hand. Draco stopped mid-step, eyeing Hermione with confusion. 

“Bloody good whiskey,” Harry shot Draco a lopsided smile.  _ “Play nice,”  _ Ginny had warned him, Draco smirking at the shared commonality. 

“Good thing you grabbed two bottles,” Ginny laughed, charming extra glasses to their table.

“No chance they make it non-alcoholic?” Lavender asked, hopeful, earning pointed stares from everyone at the table. “Kidding.”

Draco set the bottles down in the middle of the table, taking his seat next to Hermione. “Had I known whiskey was key to their friendship, I’d’ve invited them to some of the parties we used to have in the dungeons.”

“Yes, because they would have just jumped at the opportunity to  _ party  _ with the Slytherins,” Hermione’s brow arched with an amused look. 

“Admittedly biased, but we did know how to throw a soirée,” Draco poured her a glass with a chuckle.

“Mmm,” she hummed, rolling her eyes with a skeptical smile. 

“Would you have come had I invited you?”

“Only to slap you,” she smirked.

“That image is so much sexier now than it was in our third year,” his eyes flashed. “Shame you never got to see our common room.”

“Oh, Harry and Ron told me all about it.”

“They what, now?”

“I’ll tell you tonight,” Hermione promised. 

“You know what this whiskey needs?” Neville asked, interrupting Draco’s rapidly mounting list of questions.

“A cigar,” Harry answered, earning a jab from Ginny. “What? It’s a special occasion.”

“Corona Gorda,” Draco poured for himself, putting a pin in how or why Harry and Ron would have been in the Slytherin common room. “Or a Julieta.”

“Cuban?”

“Of course.”

“No chance you’ve got any on you?” Harry asked, hopeful. 

“No such luck. Suppose I could owl Theo to send some from the manor…” The table paused, blinking at him. “There’s a shop in Diagon that sells them too.”

Harry raised his glass, letting the comment go. “What to?”

“New beginnings,” Neville parroted Draco with a kind smile.

“New beginnings then.” The five raised their glasses, Lavender taking a sip of her ice water.

The ceremony began, Harry and Hermione being called up to the stage. Neville scooted next to Draco as McGonagall gave the commencement speech. “I suppose I should thank you.”

“Everyone seemed to enjoy it. No need,” Draco watched Hermione chat with Harry as Ron glowered at her, the occasional look being cast towards their table. 

“No. For being here. At this table,” Neville explained. Draco turned, brow arched. “Lav’s history with Ron was well… let’s just say I’d rather have you sitting here than him,” he said just low enough no one around them could hear.  _ Merlin, if my Gran could hear me say that to Bellatrix’s nephew…  _ “No offense.”

“None taken.” Draco took a sip, boxing away images of his aunt.

“The pregnancy has been harder on Lav than she lets on. It’s why we haven’t really told a lot of people yet. I was worried about her having to sit next to him today, and after the scene he caused yesterday… thank you.”

“I thought you and the Weasel were friends?”

“We used to be. But he’s not the same person. I mean, none of us really are anymore. I don’t know. He is cruel now.”  _ My guess is Lavender had it easy compared to Hermione…  _

“Cruel, how?” Draco’s eyes narrowed.

Neville glanced at Lavender, who was chatting away with Ginny. “Lav wasn’t Hermione.  _ Isn’t  _ Hermione. She is sweet and a little naive. The kind of naive that loves blindly and can look past people’s faults. Merlin knows I haven’t been perfect. Her  _ not  _ being Hermione caused her more heartache than it ever should have, I suspect.”

“Potter know how you feel about this?”

“No. And I would appreciate it staying that way. Between you and I, I think Harry would have a hard time believing some of the things his best mate did.”  _ Who’d want to believe Ron treats women the way he does?  _

Draco’s fist clenched beneath the table, as he debated delving into Neville’s mind for more information. “Can I ask you something?”

“Don’t see why not.”

“What were Granger and the Weasel like there towards the end?”

_ A bloody trainwreck…  _ Images of St. Mungo’s flashed in Neville’s mind: him trying to visit her there, Ron refusing to go see her, Harry giving vague answers as to what was wrong. 

“Hermione shut herself in the last couple of months. Wouldn’t take visitors.” Draco saw Neville’s memories of Ron announcing that she’d come down with a mild case of dragon pox and couldn’t accept visitors. “As for Ron, he was always out. Always the life of some party somewhere. Not to say he didn’t care anymore, a bloke in Dublin brought Mione up, and Ron sucker-punched him. Dunno what was said, but Harry had a hell of a time getting a gag order on Skeeter.”  _ My guess was it had something to do with the Irish girl who had pressed charges against Ron…  _

It was taking everything in Draco not to push into Neville’s mind, wanting to see the full extent of what had happened. Had Potter  _ known  _ he was cheating on her? Draco didn’t believe for a second that she had dragon pox, his own grandfather having died of the disease. So why  _ had  _ she gone to St. Mungos? Was it an anxiety attack or something worse? So many thoughts and images had been broadcast to him his first night with her. Had Hermione buried the memories so deep she refused to acknowledge their existence? 

“Why are you telling me all this?” Draco finally asked, clearing his mind of his own questions. 

“Well, because you asked. And if Hermione trusts you, then so do I. That and you’re not just some random bloke dating her. Not that she dates random blokes, mind you. Just that it’s only fair, you know what you’re getting yourself into.” Draco’s eyes narrowed on Neville. “Hannah Abbott was sitting behind them yesterday. Heard everything he said to her. You shocked a lot of us by standing up to help like that.”

“Helping would have been  _ hexing  _ the Weasel.”

“I agree. But you’re not really in a position to do that, are you?”

**_Longbottoms were always smarter than they appeared, Draco._ **

“If you’d hexed him, the whole school would have turned against you. They’d’ve had your head even if you were doing the right thing.” Neville took a sip of his whiskey. “To be honest, most of us who know what happened are at a loss. Ron wasn’t always a git. And he still has his moments. It’s the alcohol, I imagine. Coping with what happened during the war.”

_ Aren’t we all?  _ Draco thought to himself. 

“Not that it’s an excuse for his behavior.” 

Applause broke out, pulling Draco and Neville from their conversation. He looked up to see Hermione beaming, an obscenely large golden medal around her neck. 

“I will say one thing, though,” Neville raised his glass. “This is the happiest I’ve seen her in years.” Neville stood as Hermione and Harry resumed their seats, stopping to kiss Lavender on the head before taking his turn on the stage.

“You two getting along then?” Hermione asked, smiling wide. 

“Peas and pods and whatnot,” he leaned in, kissing her on the cheek. Hermione froze. “Should I not?” he asked her quietly. 

“No. Gods, no. You’re fine. I just… I’m not used to displays of affection being so public anymore.” Images of Ron incessantly hanging off of her or kissing her at every available photo-op flashed through her memory. 

“Alright,” Draco said with a soft smile, sitting back. 

“Just caught me off guard, is all.”

“I get it.”

“Please don’t think—”

“Granger, it’s fine. We can properly convey our message to the weasel without me having to hang off of you as though I were some insecure child.”

“And you’re not?” Hermione bit her lip, suppressing a laugh, a wash of relief surging through her. 

Draco leaned close. “I know for  _ fact  _ I can dampen those kickers with little more than a look. I’ve no reason to be insecure.”

Hermione blushed. “Awfully confident.”

“Am I wrong?” he purred. 

“You alright over there?” Ginny asked with a smirk. 

“I,” Hermione grabbed her glass of whiskey, “am great.”  _ Damp my arse, soaked it’s more like…  _

Draco coughed, nearly choking on his own drink. 

“Did you lot honestly already finish an entire bottle while we were up there?” Harry asked, examining the near-empty bottle of Macallan. 

“Blame your boy Longbottom,” Draco collected himself. 

“He  _ does  _ like his whiskey. We’re going to need another if we’re to make it through the speeches.” Draco went to stand, Harry on his feet first. “You’re not the only one whose parents left them a vault.” Harry stared pointedly at Draco. “Anything for you, Lav?”

“I’ll stick with my plain boring water,” she grumbled. 

“Where’s the fun in that?” Draco asked, earning looks from the table. “Have a Shirley Temple. Arnold Palmer, at the very least.”

“Muggle whiskey, Muggle drinks… I’d say the states are wearing off on you,” Harry commented, teasingly. 

“Wait,” Hermione turned towards him. “You knew?”  _ Why would Harry know he lives in America? _

“Of course he knows,” Draco took a drink. “Had to get that golden stamp of approval to relocate.”

“Speaking of, how’s Sam?” Harry asked with a knowing smile. 

“Aggravating as ever. Married Becca.”

“Lovely.”

“What’s a Shirley Temple?” Lavender asked, breaking the sudden tension. 

✣ ✣ ✣

After the speeches were given and the awards handed out, Draco found himself by the bar; Neville, Harry, Seamus, and Dean all flanking him, roaring with laughter. 

“He didn’t!” Seamus slapped Draco on the back. 

“I promise you he did,” Draco laughed. “The old bat gave him detention so often I suppose it became a sort of fetish for him.”

“But to get  _ caught  _ perving on her! In her own loo!” Dean laughed. 

“Crabbe was many things. Intelligent wasn’t one of them,” Draco commented. 

“Do ya figure there really is a Potion of Invisibility out there?” Seamus asked. 

“No,” Draco and Harry said in unison.

_ However, a cloak, _ Draco thought, Harry staring at him as though he’d read his mind. 

“Shame that.” The Irishman shook his head. “At least we’ve got good whiskey.”

“How did Crabbe die again?” Dean asked. 

“Fiendfyre,” Harry answered, still eyeing Draco. 

“Nasty thing that,” Seamus took a long draw of his whiskey, emptying his cup. “Set me mum’s carpet on fire more than once.”

“I’ll set your mum’s carpet on fire,” Dean laughed. 

“Oi!”

Surprised to find himself laughing so easily, Draco looked about the grounds, spotting Ron, who was sulking by himself, and Hermione, who was all smiles with a cluster of women. 

“You two had a lie in to watch Pride and Prejudice?” Katie asked with disbelief. 

“Well, half of it,” Hermione blushed, distracted by fleeting images of his face buried between her legs as the credits rolled. 

“You slag!” Padma nudged her. 

“At least someone is getting some,” Ginny said bitterly. “Trade you. Chollicy James for a Ferret?”

“Ginny!”

“What?” The redhead grinned. “Bet he’s an amazing kisser.”

“Wouldn’t know,” Hermione shrugged. 

“You two haven’t snogged?” Katie asked.

“Nope,” she took a sip of her whiskey, feeling the effects of it after her third glass.

“So you’ll shag him but not snog him?” Padma asked. 

“It’s not as if it’s been on purpose,” she lied. “We just kind of skim past that part in favor of… better things.” Hermione bit her lip; more images of the way he had pulled her hair before slapping her ass caused her core to heat. 

“Do tell,” Ginny asked eagerly.

“Well, he does this thing where he almost massages my scalp before pulling my hair.”

“That sounds barbaric,” Padma gasped.

“Lucky bitch,” Ginny mumbled.

“He’s… I don’t know, sweet but kind of filthy?”

“Filthy?” Katie’s brow arched. 

“It’s…” Hermione trailed off. “Have you ever apparated during sex?” she asked, Padma shaking her head as Ginny’s jaw dropped. “I highly recommend it.”

“I officially hate you.” Ginny scowled playfully. “I can forgive you for leaving us all behind, but this is too much.”

“I’m sure I’m just talking it up because it’s all so new,” Hermione blushed. “Besides, it’s not like I have a lot to compare him to, you know?”

“But compared to…?” Padma let the question hang in the air. 

“Ah!” Ginny plugged her ears. “Could you  _ not?  _ Rather not think of my brother in the sack.”

Hermione laughed. “I won’t compare, but I can tell you that he has set a bar so high it might be some time until I find someone who can match it.”

“So this isn’t long term then?” Katie asked, a frown pulling at the corners of her mouth. 

“I don’t know what this is. Fun, I suppose?”

“Have you any plans for tonight?” Ginny asked. “I could get a sitter, and we could double?”

“I’d love that, but I’ve already agreed to accompany him to a party.”

“A party?” Katie and Padma said. 

“There is a masquerade ball at the Nott estate tonight.” The girls’ faces dropped. “Don’t give me that look. He’s getting along better than I could have expected with my friends. The least I can do is try to do the same with his.”

“But they’re so… Slytherin,” Katie’s face twisted. 

“So is Draco,” Hermione reminded them.

“Wouldn’t guess it by the way they’re all getting along,” Ginny motioned to the boys who had procured cigars, laughing as their puffs of smoke transfigured into various shapes and forms. 

“So,” a voice cut through their conversation. “Is this the hens meeting then? For all of you hens?” Hermione turned to find a drunk Ron staggering towards them.

_ Not now… things were so good…  _

“Bugger off, Ron,” Ginny snapped. 

“No, no, no. Think I’ll stay. Padma, Katie, lovely as always.”

“Excuse us.” Padma glared at Ron before the two women took their leave.

“What do you want?” Ginny asked again. 

“I need a reason to talk to my baby sister and ex-fiancée?”

_ Please go. Please go. Please go…  _

“Ron…” Ginny warned. 

“Speaking of ex’s, where’s Lav?”

“She wasn’t feeling well, so she went home early,” Hermione said. 

“Ah, yes. The baby. Keep forgetting about that little bastard. Well, good on her, I say. At least she  _ can  _ get pregnant.”

_ One… two…  _ Hermione’s fingers twitched. 

“Do we have a problem here?” Draco appeared beside Hermione, hand on the small of her back. Hermione exhaled, the tension that had been building in her body releasing. 

“Well, isn’t this just ducky? Say, I have a theory. Since Neville was so kind as to knock up my wife—”

“Ex-wife,” Ginny growled, Harry and Neville joining the conversation. 

“Then maybe you could knock up this one, yeah?” Ron stared at Draco through bloodshot eyes. “Hairy, bucktooth, Ferret babies.”

“Ron,” Harry warned. 

“Public space, mate. You can ward me out of your house, but you can’t keep me from Hogwarts.”

“No, but we can get the Headmistress to toss you out,” Neville threatened. 

“Look at all of you. Supposed to be  _ my  _ friends,” Ron raised his voice. “Now you’re siding with the fuckin’ ferret?”

“Yeah. I am,” Neville stepped towards Ron. “He may have been the enemy at one point, but at least he isn’t an abusive drunk.”

Harry and Ginny both looked to Neville in confusion. 

“Do you even hear yourself?” Ron slurred. “Takin’ up with a Death Eater? Quick to call me abusive, what about him, huh?” he jabbed his finger into Draco’s chest.

“Abuse isn’t just  _ physical, _ mate,” Neville growled. 

Ron glared at his former friend in disgust. “You’re really gonna choose  _ him  _ over me? He bullied you for years. He tortured Herm—”

“You know, I’m getting really sick of—” Draco began to defend himself against the false accusations once more. 

“He’s not worth it,” Hermione pulled Draco back, shaking her head.

“Shit’s sick, Mione,” Ron scowled.

“Back off,” Draco warned with a lethal edge in his voice. 

“Or what? Gonna hex me? Curse me? You,” Ron jabbed his chest once more. “Can’t touch me.”

Draco’s jaw tensed, fire burning deep behind mercury eyes. 

**_Don’t, Draco. You’re better than this._ **

“How about I make it easy, huh?” Ron laughed, reaching for his wand. 

Before his fumbling fingers could find it, Neville’s fist connected with his face. “That’s for Lavender, you son-of-a-bitch!” Neville shouted, the luncheon freezing. Neville’s other fist went flying before Ron hit the ground, connecting with the redhead’s temple. “And that’s for Hermione!”

“Damn,” Draco muttered, both shocked and impressed at how quickly Neville knocked Ron out. 

“Mr. Longbottom!” McGonagall’s voice pierced the silence as she rushed towards them. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Ron was about to pull his wand on Malfoy,” Harry said, staring down at his unconscious friend in disbelief. “Neville defended him.”

“Oh,” McGonagall was at a loss for words. “Well then, I suppose I won’t fault you for that.”

“Still playing favorites, I see,” Draco whispered into Hermione’s ear. She reached back and swatted him playfully.

“Mr. Weasley?” McGonagall looked about the tables, spotting George. The elder brother walked over, embarrassment written on his face. “When your brother wakes, please do inform him that he is no longer invited to tomorrow’s festivities.”

“No problem.” George looked to Hermione apologetically before picking his little brother up off the ground. 

“As for the rest of you. While I can appreciate you drinking my cousin’s company dry today, I do ask that you all sober up. Sets the wrong precedence for our  _ current  _ students. I trust I needn’t explain that, Mr. Longbottom?”

_ Cousin?  _

**_Macallan was descendent of McGonagall, Draco. You’ve read this._ **

“No, ma’am.”

“Very well. If I might have a word with you two privately,” the elder witch pointed to Harry and Ginny. 

“Bollox,” Ginny downed her glass before following her husband inside the castle. 

“Well, that was…” Draco trailed off, he and Hermione left standing beside Neville. 

“Sorry about that,” Neville apologized. “Someone needed to shut him up, and I figured I wouldn’t get in nearly as much trouble.” 

“Thanks for that.”

“Neville,” Hermione faced him. “What did he  _ do  _ to Lavender?”  _ So help me, I will hex him into the next life… his ghost will haunt this school…  _

“It’s not really my business to be saying.” Neville’s face dropped. A clear memory of the blonde describing the things Ron did and said to hurt her flashed into Draco’s mind… the multiple times Ron called Lavender by Hermione’s name during sex… the way he made Lavender feel guilty for not being able to conceive… 

“Fucking asshole,” Draco caught himself saying aloud. 

“Disturbing, isn’t it?” Luna’s sing-song voice suddenly came from beside them. 

“Luna,” Hermione and Neville both cheered up at the sight of her. 

“So much pain.” She starred in the direction Ron had been drug off. “She’s happier now, though.”

“Er, how are you today, Luna?” Neville asked. 

“Better than most, so I’m grateful. Lovely weather.” She and the rest looked up, seeing the rain clouds funneling in.

“Say, Malfoy. Have you two got plans for tonight? Lav is always bugging me to have guests over for dinner.”

“Unfortunately, we do. Raincheck?”

“Alright. Just don’t forget the hornwort, yeah?”

“I’ll send you some as soon as I get home,” Draco promised. He glanced at his watch. “We ought to get going.”

“Brentano’s,” Luna said to Draco, earning looks from Hermione and Neville. 

“I think she’d like that too.” Draco smiled at Luna. “Come along, Granger. We’re burning daylight.” Draco held out his arm for her before walking towards the courtyard. 

“What was that all about?”

“Longbottom and I got to talking about herbs. Me for the practical use, he for the sport of growing them, I suppose. I hadn’t been aware that there was a near endangered species of hornwort growing not far from my house.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Hermione stopped on the cobblestone, her world swaying. 

“Here,” Draco reached into his suit coat, pulling out two small vials. 

“Is this what you gave me Thursday night?”

“That was for hangovers. I’ve titled this one Instant Sobriety. My second most popular seller.” Hermione eyed the vial, pulling the cork to sniff the potion. “Meant to be drunk, not inhaled.”

“I know that,” she swatted at him before downing the contents. Quicker than the first potion had been, her dizziness subsided, her vision clearing. Hermione felt  _ more  _ than sober. She felt as though she had properly hydrated and slept for once. “That’s amazing.”

“Terribly addictive as well,” he noted, re-corking his now-empty vial. 

“How’s that?”

“I’ll tell you when we’re not in earshot of the newest generation of Aurors.”

Hermione looked about, seeing students shuffling through the space. “Where to?”

“Ministry.”

In a gut-churning jump, Hermione and Draco popped out in the atrium of the building. “How is it when you apparate us I’m fine, but when I do it, I feel nauseous?”

“Distance. I’ve never taken you further than 100 meters.”

_ What an oddly specific measurement.  _

“What now?”

“Portkeys,” he said, leading the way. 

“Where are we going?” 

“Shopping.”

“Where?”

“Paris,” his eyes glinted. 

“You expect to go shopping in Paris and still make it to the party on time?” Hermione scoffed, ignoring how flippant Draco was being about a jaunt to France and back. 

“Magic,” he said as though it were a novel concept. 

“Still, it’s quarter past three. There’s no way we’d make it on time.”

“The goal is to be fashionably late.” Draco approached the counter, delighted to spot Prewitt behind it. “Pass to Paris, please,” he grinned wickedly. 

“Not a chance in hell. You and your—” she froze, spotting Hermione. “Good day, Miss Granger. Paris is it?”

“Weren’t you in—?” Hermione began to ask. 

“The minister so  _ kindly  _ reassigned me yesterday.”  _ Loudmouth, entitled bitch… _

“Paris, round trip, for two,” Draco cut in. 

“Wands.” Prewitt glared at him. Both held out their wands, Prewitt charming them. “Enjoy your trip.”

Draco tugged Hermione towards the aisle of portkeys. Pointing his wand at an ornate silver bust, the feminine figure sprung to life, blinking at both of them. The woman began to count down in a soft French dialect, Draco and Hermione resting their hands on either shoulder of the figure. 

The world spun once more, Hermione nearly falling to her knees. “Remind me to thank you for sobering me up,” she said, her voice as green as her face. 

“Didn’t you and Potter do this all across the map together?”

“We had a lot going on then. Nausea was the least of my worries.”  _ Being tortured and murdered by a genocidal maniac, however…  _

“Ever been to Paris?” he asked to distract her. 

“No,” she stood, using Draco’s hand as support. “Nice a few times. But never Paris.”

“Then let me show you around,” he held out his arm for her to take once more. 

“Take it you’ve been a time or two?”

“Mother’s side of the family is from here. Distant cousins still run around, but they’re not nearly as socially active since the war.”

“Do you keep in touch?”

“No. The only family member I still speak with is Aunt’ Dromeda.”

_ I always forget she’s his aunt… weird to think I’ve babysat his nephew before…  _

“Have we far to walk?”

“Not far.”

Hermione shoved into him lightly, their hands finding each others. “Do we have time for you to explain your entrepreneurial endeavors?”

“Ah,” he laughed. “Business plan is pretty straight forward really. Create a product, get the masses addicted. Supply a remedy to the side effects at twice the cost.”

“And how much is that?”

“Two hundred.”

“Sickles?”  _ Seems cheap. _

“Galleons.”

“You’re joking!” Hermione’s jaw dropped. 

“Honestly, I could get away with charging more.”

“And people  _ pay  _ that?”

“Willingly. More people than you’d think, too.”

“And no one has come up with a competitive potion?”

“Oh, there’s knock-offs to be sure, but my antidote as it were is complementary to the various…  _ party favors.” _

“Just call them drugs,” Hermione deadpanned. 

“Ew. No. Drugs are so  _ Muggle.” _ He caught the glare out the side of his eye. “Pedestrian. Whereas I sell high-quality potions to let people escape.”

“Escape what?” she asked. Draco gave her a knowing look. “Ah. And do you partake in said escapism?”

“No. Never in social settings anyway. And not in years. There are ways to test potions without having to ingest them.” Hermione’s eyes bounced from shop to shop as they walked, settling on a bookstore she saw in the distance. Just as she was about to open her mouth, Draco directed them towards it. “Brentano’s,” he said. “Care to look around?”

“How long have we got?”

“Party doesn’t start until ten.”

“Then, yes.” Her eyes lit up as she pulled him towards the shop entrance. 

✣ ✣ ✣

Hermione walked out of the bookstore with no less than twenty-five titles she had spotted. “In-credible!” She grinned, practically skipping along the street. “I could get lost in there.”

“I was afraid you had,” he chuckled. 

“Do we really have to go to this party? You and I could find a corner in there and—”

“Shag?” his eyes flashed. 

_ Gods, hadn’t thought about that… wait, why does that turn me on? _

“If we don’t go, then Theo will pester me to the end of days. I’ll end up having to curse him. Then Potter will lock me away. Would you really rather have me locked up than spend a couple of hours dressed to the nines drinking champagne?”

“You’re lucky I’m fond of you in a suit,” Hermione teased.

“Tux,” he corrected her, tapping the tip of her nose. His hand found hers as they walked along the sidewalk. “Brentano’s is undoubtedly the best here, but if you’re looking for a hole in the wall collection of first editions, there is a place just outside Salem I’d never be able to tear you away from.”

“Don’t tempt me,” she pointed with a smile. “Where to now?”

“Just ahead.” Draco motioned towards a three-story dress shop, lit up with ornate mannequins and luxe dresses.

“That’s…”  _ Too expensive.  _

“My treat. Least I can do for you acting as a line of defense against Pansy.”

“I want something simple,” she said firmly. “To blend in.”

“You could wear a sack and be incapable of blending in.”

“I’d argue the sack would make me stand out more.”

“Well, it is haute couture in some of the fashion houses right now,” he smirked. “Shall I procure you a potato sack or a barley sack?”

“Simple, Malfoy.”

“Back to the surnames,” he clicked his tongue. “I  _ have  _ offended you, haven’t I?”

“Simple,” she warned again, a sly smile spreading across Draco’s face.

✣ ✣ ✣

By the time the women in the shop were done with Hermione, she was wearing the opposite of simple. Head to toe golden silk covered her, clinging to her body in a nearly indecent way. Draco had gone to be fitted for his tux, leaving her to the mercy of the French witches. Dress after dress, they had charmed on and off of her, leaving her with little sense of modesty after the first six. The only demand the pair seemed to honor was her desire for long sleeves, though the entirety of the material was so sheer she could not only make out the outline of her scar but her breasts as well; gems and embroidering covering enough of her sex to make her comfortable. 

“Bloody hell, Granger,” Draco’s voice carried from the entrance to the oversized fitting room. Hermione tried her best not to gawk at the flattering cut of the dark tuxedo nor try to guess how much it was setting him back. The smaller of the witches scurried over to him, charming his pocket square and bowtie to match her dress. 

“Magnifique,” she squeaked. “Qu’elle vision!” She gestured towards Hermione, whose face and neck were nearly scarlet with her blush.

“Étourdissant,” Draco said, unable to tear his gaze from Hermione. 

“Viens laissons les,” she spoke to the other woman, both exiting to leave them alone in the room. 

Draco stepped towards Hermione, who was still on top of the alterations platform, running his hands up the sides of her legs. “I do speak French, you know.” Hermione’s breath caught, watching the storm of liquid mercury in his eyes.

“Tu ne sais pas à quel point tu es sublime, ce soir,” he smiled softly, hands encasing her hips. 

“Cela à l'air d'être un compliment,” Hermione’s brow arched.

“You  _ would  _ be fluent too, wouldn’t you?” he smirked, holding his hand out to let her step down. Draco pulled her to him, his lips ghosting along her décollete. “Je veux t’embrasser,” he whispered into her, his hand spreading across the small of her back. “Sur chaque partie de ton corps.” Hermione’s head rolled back in a soft moan, his lips peppering soft kisses up her neck, along her jaw. “Te faire mienne ce soir.” He stopped just shy of her lips, his eyes sharp on hers as need clashed with want. 

Hermione’s body shook, his words heating her core. “La robe,” she gasped. In a flash, the garment was charmed from her body, hanging neatly on the far wall. “Sorcellerie,” she laughed softly, completely nude against him. 

“Deuxième plus haut grade,” he growled, warm hands sliding up her waist as his lips found purchase along the column of her neck. 

“We’re in a shop,” Hermione melted into him, tugging his bowtie loose. 

“They won’t be back.”

“We’ll be late.” Hermione looked up to the skylight, seeing that it had already gotten dark.

“Then we’ll be even  _ more  _ fashionable,” his thumb ran along the weightiness of her breast. Draco bent, taking her nipple into his mouth. She moaned louder, wrapping her arms around his neck as her leg lifted to his hip. He released her breast with a pop; her nipple hardened and pebbled from the attention. “Perfect.”

“Draco,” she whispered as her fingers raked into his coiffed locks. Hermione’s world spun as he apparated them to the platform, her straddling his now-naked body as he took her other breast into his mouth with a low hum. Reaching between her legs, she wrapped her hand around his length, stroking him gently. 

“Fuck,” he shuddered, his eyes having become hardened steel. 

_ I’ve never… I’ve always wanted… screw it.  _ Lifting herself slightly, she ran the tip of his cock between her soaked folds, lubricating it before settling on him. 

“Shit,” she gasped, slowly sinking onto him, taking him in.  _ Full… so full…  _ “Ah,” she moaned, clenching around him.  _ Perfect cock…  _

“Fuckin’ hell, Granger,” he groaned, her thoughts going straight from his ego to his dick. 

Realizing her position, the effect she was having on him, a sense of power surged through her. She rolled her hips slowly, his eyes nearly rolling back in his head. “You like that?” she parroted some porn she’d come across years prior. 

“Fuck, yes.” 

She gave another experimental roll, feeling his nails dig into her back, desperate and wanting, a need unlike any before. 

_ So much deeper… so much control…  _

“Fuck me, Granger,” Draco growled, biting the curve of her neck. “Use me. Fuck me how  _ you  _ want. However, you want.”

His words were all it took for her to pick up speed, bouncing and rolling his cock in and out of her to her whim. Adjusting the pace, the pressure, the angle, she used him to tighten the coil within. Confidence bloomed in her, witnessing the thirst in his eyes, the veneration as he watched her have her way with him. 

Using her palms, she pushed him flat onto his back. His hands slid to the small of her waist as she bounced, her hair coming free of the charmed style. Curls cascaded around her, breasts bouncing as she fell into a rhythm, chasing her bliss. 

“Fucking gorgeous,” he exhaled. Draco’s nails raked down her sides, the sharp pain fueling her desire.

Skin slapped against skin, the noise filling the air. Hermione neither knew nor cared if a silencing charm had been cast. She felt her body tense and tighten around him as she rode him. Reaching between them, Draco’s fingers found her clit, throwing her over the edge with a scream. “Dra—” her mind went blank, all thoughts leaving her as she let herself feel. 

“That’s it.” He leaned up to kiss across her chest, pulling her against him. 

“Draco,” Hermione heaved, collapsing against him. “Draco… Draco… Draco…” her words mirrored her thoughts, her body clenching and spasming around him. Quick, fierce, mind-numbingly satisfying. The two sat together, aftershocks ripping through her. 

Draco rolled them onto her back, still inside, gently stroking in and out of her. “You are breathtaking when you cum, you know that?”

“You’re going to get into trouble with all of these compliments,” she laughed breathily, feeling the push and pull of his cock within, a warm buzz spreading throughout her.

“I’m already in trouble,” he thrust into her, pulling her leg across his chest. Draco rolled his hips out and around, snapping back into her each time.

“Gods,” she breathed, her body ready to go once more. Draco kissed anywhere and everywhere his lips could reach, slick skin sweet with sweat. Hermione’s back arched up into him. “We… ah, faster,” she breathed. “After. Party. This. Again.”

“During,” he thrust into her.

_ Right there, right there, right there…  _

“Yes!” she screamed. “More.  _ Please,” _ her nails dug into the back of his thighs as he fucked her.

_ More, more, more, more…  _

“You’re insatiable.” He slammed into her, certain she’d have rug burns from the platform. 

“So good,” Hermione hummed, biting her lip.  _ Perfect…  _

With a savage pace, Draco drove into her, launching her over the edge into an abyss of ecstasy. Spilling into her, she screamed his name, brows furrowed with a triumphant smile. He rolled his hips through their climax, kissing into the soft of her neck as she melted beneath him. “Fuck the party,” he purred, his kisses trailing across her breast bone. 

“How are we supposed to shag  _ during  _ if we’re not there?” She laughed between breaths. 

“Swot,” he smirked, snapping his hips one last time. 

“Terrible waste of a dress.”

“You assume it’ll survive tonight.” Pulling from her, he rolled to his back. Hermione’s arm wrapped over his chest, fingers tracing his Sectumsempra scars.

_ Wonder if I can convince him to spend the rest of the weekend in this dressing room shagging me? _

Draco smirked at her thought, his dick twitching in response. “We’ve got to get going,” he nearly whispered, kissing the top of her head. “Still have to find masks.”

Hermione sat up, staring down at Draco and his unkempt hair.  _ Why did I make that stupid kissing rule?  _ she asked herself, watching the storm of his silver eyes trained on her. Coffee irises drifted towards his lips momentarily before she shook her head.  _ Don’t get attached. Tomorrow is Sunday. The weekend is already almost over…  _

Draco stood, charming their clothes to them. “There’s accessories if you want. Necklaces, those sorts of things.” With a flick of his wand, he was back in his tux. “I’ll just be…” he motioned towards the storefront. 

“Yeah. I’ll only be a couple of minutes.” She stood, the slinky gold fabric liquid in her arms.

“Leave the hair,” he went to touch a curl, pulling his hand back hesitantly. 

“The bird’s nest won’t give me away?” she laughed half-heartedly, remembering Ron’s words from the day prior. 

Draco’s face hardened. “Anyone calls it that, they’ll have me to deal with.”

Hermione smiled softly. “We’re going to be later than fashion dictates,” she noted the clock on the wall. 

“Right.” Draco snapped out of his trance, heading towards the doors. “Sorry.”

“Draco?” He stopped, turning back. “If I forget to tell you, thank you.”

His brow arched as his trademark smirk spread across his face. “For the shag?”

Hermione rolled her eyes with a laugh. “For the dress you prat.”

His smirk softened into a smile before he pulled the door open. He gave her one last look before dragging himself out of the room. 

**_She’s not the only one who shouldn’t get attached, Draco._ **

“I’m not attached.” Draco paused in front of a mirror, adjusting his bowtie. 

**_You’ve already admitted that you’re in trouble…_ **

“Can I not allow myself this one moment of happiness?”

**_You’re allowed to be happy, Draco. But the fact remains tomorrow is Sunday._ **

“I’m bloody well aware what day of the week it is.”

**_You’ve suffered enough. You won’t survive another heartbreak._ **

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those not fluent in French below is a translation of the dressing room scene: 
> 
> “Bloody hell, Granger,” Draco’s voice carried from the entrance to the oversized fitting room. Hermione tried her best not to gawk at the flattering cut of the dark tuxedo nor try to guess how much it was setting him back. The smaller of the witches scurried over to him, charming his pocket square and bowtie to match her dress.
> 
> “Magnificent,” she squeaked. “Let her see!” she gestured towards Hermione, whose face and neck was nearly scarlet with her blush.
> 
> “Stunning,” Draco spoke, unable to tear his gaze from Hermione.
> 
> “Come, let's leave them,” she spoke to the other woman, both exiting to leave them alone in the room.
> 
> Draco stepped towards Hermione who was still on top of the alterations platform, running his hands up the sides of her legs. “I do speak French you know,” Hermione’s breath caught, watching the storm of liquid mercury in his eyes.
> 
> “You don't know how sublime you are tonight,” he smiled softly, hands encasing her hips.
> 
> “It sounds like a compliment,” Hermione’s brow arched.
> 
> "You would be fluent too, wouldn't you?" he smirked, holding his hand out to let her step down. Draco pulled her to him, his lips ghosting along her décollete. “I want to kiss you,” he muttered into her, his hand spreading across the small of her back. “On every part of your body.” Hermione’s head rolled back in a soft moan, his lips peppering soft kisses up her neck, along her jaw. "Make you mine tonight." He stopped just shy of her lips, his eyes sharp on hers as need clashed with want.
> 
> Hermione’s body shook, his words heating her core. “The dress,” she gasped. In a flash the garment was charmed from her body, hanging neatly on the far wall. “Witchcraft,” she laughed softly, completely nude against him.
> 
> “Second highest grade,” he growled, warm hands sliding up her waist as his lips found purchase along the column of her neck.
> 
> Follow me @crystymre on Twitter <3


	7. Sanctimonia Vincet Semper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Hermione had to do was make it through the party...

✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵

**SPOTTED: Golden Girl Hermione Granger Dazzles in Gold Couture.**

**Hermione Granger, pictured below, was spotted with Draco Malfoy at the Nott Estate. She (wearing an ornate hand-embroidered Ricci) and Malfoy (fitted in a cashmere Kiton tuxedo) were seen arriving at the masquerade event, arm in arm. Granger sporting a jewel-encrusted phoenix mask, rumored to have come from Malfoy family vaults, stole the show and in many ways our hearts. A clear ode to the late Albus Dumbledore, Granger shone as brilliantly as her namesake, turning heads everywhere she went. Malfoy, wearing a simple yet chic half mask, truly let his date shine; spinning her around the dance floor with an elegant grace all his own. In addition to Mr. Malfoy’s former classmates' other notable attendees were the ever-elusive Luna Lovegood, the recently retired Ludo Bagman, and the World Cup's newest commentator Lee Jordan.**

“Wow,” Hermione said breathlessly as they stepped out of the floo, pulling at the sides of her gown. 

“Stop fidgeting,” Draco leaned in, kissing the side of her temple. “You look amazing.”

“I’m overdressed,” she adjusted the heavy mask on her face. 

“I promise you’re not.” Draco stopped, pulling the door open for Hermione to step inside. 

Her eyes went wide at the sight: gold-painted acrobats twisted and turned along the vast chamber Hermione guessed was a ballroom; nude women decorated in ornate greenery floated through the space carrying trays. She was certain she could see men wandering about, warpaint and blood splashed across their clothless selves. While she still felt overdressed it was officially in the abundance of fabric, her wearing more than the entire party combined. 

Hermione couldn’t think of a time where she’d seen so much  _ nudity _ .

“Sodom and Gomorrah,” a voice startled her from the vision. Hermione turned, finding the dark-haired boy standing beside them. 

“Theo,” Draco turned, sincerity in his voice. 

“Draco. Bit too many clothes, mate,” Theo eyed him, wearing little more than fig leaves himself. Hermione swallowed, trying to neither blush nor stare. While she would adamantly agree that Draco did, in fact, have nothing to be insecure about neither did Theo. Not quite the translucent marbled tone Draco was, Theo was just as beautifully fair and toned. 

_ Must be that good breeding,  _ she laughed to herself. 

“Well, had someone mentioned that the theme was hedonism…”

“You wouldn’t have come,” Theo smiled. His attention turned to Hermione. “You, on the other hand, are a vision.” Taking her hand he placed a soft kiss on her knuckles. Piercing blue eyes stared up at her, a kindness she wouldn’t have expected lurking just behind them.

Theo had never been unkind to her in school but he had also never gone out of his way to be friends either. The Silent Slytherin Ginny had dubbed him one night in a game of Would-You-Rather. All parties involved in the Gryffindor sleepover agreed that he was by far the most attractive Slytherin boy, the fact that he didn’t align himself with Crabbe, Goyle, or Pansy, added points to his cause. 

Draco chuckled quietly, “Granger, Theo. Theo, G--”

“We  _ did  _ attend school together,” Theo rolled his eyes. “I must say I am adoring all of this symbolism with the phoenix feathers. Perhaps you will be the last one standing when the fire and brimstone fall upon this estate tonight.”

“You do know that the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah were only two of the five Plains civilizations? And that many modern scientists believe it was actually a meteor not--”

“Theo isn’t particularly interested in the facts,” Draco cut her off. “He just wanted an excuse for everyone to show up half-naked.”

“What can I say?” he shrugged innocently. A waitress passed by with a tray of giggle water. Handing his guests a glass each he held up his own, “To fire, brimstone, meteors, sinkholes, and any other natural cataclysms that might befall this estate.” Hermione raised her glass, unsure what to say. 

Theo’s head turned abruptly, eyes wide. “Is that… is that a tiger?” Hermione asked, following his line of sight.

“Rather large kneazle I’d suspect,” Theo set his glass down on a nearby table. “If you’ll excuse me.” 

“That was the most I’d heard him speak in fourteen years,” Hermione watched Theo, and his very exposed backside, disappear into the crowd. 

“That is Liquid Courage. Theo is painfully shy in reality. Until he gets to know you of course. Designed the potion just for him.”

“Liquid Courage?” she mocked the name. 

“Frees your inhibitions much like alcohol but lets you retain all of your faculties without the nasty hangover. Quite useful for events like this.”

“If he’s so shy then why throw parties?”

“Expectations,” Draco shrugged. 

“Some ridiculous pureblood thing I wouldn’t understand?” she asked with an arched brow. 

“Precisely.”

“And your expectations?”

“Died years ago,” Draco downed his drink. 

**_That’s not true and you know it._ **

“How is it you are able to make such  _ specific  _ potions?” Hermione shifted subjects. 

“Neuropharmacologist,” his eyes flashed as he turned towards the party, a smirk playing at his lips. 

_ What isn’t he telling me?  _ Hermione thought. “Wait, wait, wait,” Hermione rounded him, stopping him in his path. “Are you--” 

“Conversation for another day, Granger. For now, let’s find something to munch on. I am famished. Really worked up an appetite earlier,” he smirked, holding out his arm for her. 

“So, why is Theo so dead set on this place burning down?” Hermione asked as Draco led her through the room towards the buffet.

“You remember my father, I take it?” Draco’s voice lost all cheer. “Imagine him but larger, angrier, and not nearly as mannered.”

“Nott Senior?” she asked as they navigated around dancers and servers alike. 

“After he was sentenced, Theo and I tried to burn the place down. It’s so heavily warded against its own destruction that even fiendfyre was of no use.” 

“Why not sell it if he wants to be rid of it?”

“Not very marketable, former death eater residences.”

_ Whatever happened to all of the larger estates?  _ Hermione suddenly asked herself.  _ What happened to Malfoy Manor…? _

“So what will he do with it?”

“Nothing likely. The lands are tied to his family line so the Ministry can’t officially seize them without his consent.”

“Does he have any brothers or sisters?”

Draco shook his head. “Only child.”

“World didn’t need another Theo running around?” Hermione laughed, her giggle water getting the best of her. 

He turned, amused by her influenced outburst. “His mother died in childbirth.”

Hermione’s mouth snapped shut, her glee fleeting. “I’m sorry. I just thought--”

“Don’t be. It’s not exactly common knowledge.”

“There are other families though, with one child?”

“Some pureblood families elect to have one child so that there are no wars launched by rights of succession when their parents die. As a general rule the larger the estate the fewer the children.”

“Like British nobility?”

“Precisely. Not quite as sexist though. For instance, Daphne will inherit the Greengrass estate. Pansy will inherit her father’s as well. As will Luna.”

“Luna?”

“How quickly everyone forgets she's  _ one of us _ ,” he smirked. “There are plenty others mind you, they just tend to stay out of the spotlight.”

“Hello,” a small voice came from beside Hermione. 

“Luna!” she jumped, nearly spilling her drink.  _ Where did she come from?!  _ “You’re here?” Hermione eyed the iridescent dress and mask combination she wore, trying to figure out what obscure creature she was dressed up to be. 

“My father asked me to come. It’s a widely known fact that the Nott estate is home to an endangered species of gulping plimpy.”

“Oh,” Hermione was at a loss of words. “And how many are left?”

“I’ve only spotted three. I fear their days are numbered,” she looked out through the crowd, her eyes unfocused. 

“We  _ must _ throw some sort of charity gala,” Draco drawled, Hermione nudging him. 

“Do you think Theo would agree to host it here?” Luna turned, her eyes refocusing on Draco.

Draco choked on his drink, politely trying to disguise his smile. “I highly encourage you to ask him.”

“I think I will,” Luna smiled. “I’m going to ask the portraits if they’ve seen any about,” she drifted off, floating into the crowd. 

“Never not odd,” Draco took a sip of his drink.

“Be nice,” she scolded. 

“I am being nice,” he laughed. “You think Looney doesn’t know what people say about her?”

“Luna,” Hermione ground out. “And that’s not the point.”

“Are you implying she can’t handle herself?” A shit-eating grin spread across his face.

“No,” Hermione shook her head, flustered.

“She can fight against an army but not take a nickname or two?”

“I didn’t say that,” Hermione’s eyes narrowed defensively. “And  _ looney _ isn’t a nickname.”

“Sure it is,” Draco plucked a fig off a passing platter. “I’ve been calling her that since we were in nappies.” Hermione pointedly stared at him in disbelief. “Don’t look at me like that,” he laughed. “Her mother was a Fawley. Our grandparents were close. Business partners for a while.”

Hermione’s disbelief turned to skepticism.

“It was Xenophilius my father had issues with. Never her mother. After Pandora died Luna was pulled from primary. I was forbidden from speaking to her from that point on.”

“I… I didn’t know,” a wash of embarrassment took her face.  _ If her mother was a Fawley, would that mean she's a descendant of Hector Fawley? _

**_Your grandfather always argued that it was Hector’s indecision that led to his being forced out of office. Abraxus never would have entertained the family if it weren’t for their political position._ **

“The wizarding world is notorious for keeping things hush-hush.”

“Clearly,” Hermione took a sip of her giggle water. 

“A person could make a small fortune writing a tell-all of the Twenty-Eight,” Draco commented offhandedly, popping another fig into his mouth. 

A camera flashed, blinding them both as smoke filled the space. “Absolutely spectacular!” Rita’s voice came from behind her cameraman. 

“Who let you in?” Draco’s smile dropped. 

“Our gracious host of course,” she grinned. “Who  _ are _ you wearing?” Rita turned to Hermione.

_Should_ _have left you in that jar…_

“Scram, Skeeter.”

“One more picture?”

“Will you leave then?” Hermione asked before Draco could refuse. 

“Only if you make it a good one,” the blonde winked. 

“Fine,” she growled, looping her arm back through his. 

“Oh get closer than, now,” Rita purred. Draco ground his jaw, his irritation mounting. “How about a kiss?”

Hermione stiffened.  _ I wonder if Kingsley would pardon me if I hexed her… _

Draco swiftly grabbed Hermione’s free hand, bringing her knuckles to his lips with a soft kiss. 

“Oh, perfect!” The camera flashed once more. “That’ll make the cover,” Rita smiled, making Hermione sick. With an abrupt swish she and her camera hunted down the next unfortunate couple. 

“Thank you,” Hermione said softly, her body still rigid. 

“She’s a nuisance. Theo and I are going to chat about this later.” He dropped their hands, keeping his fingers laced with hers. “C’mon, let’s find somewhere less easily spotted.”

“There’s so many people here,” her eyes scanned the crowd as Draco led her up a staircase. 

“Too many,” he growled, finding a quiet alcove above the ballroom. 

_ They must be a thing if they’re here together… _

_ What  _ **_is_ ** _ she wearing…?  _

_ Definitely an upgrade over Ron…  _

_ Astoria was prettier… _

**_Don’t listen to them, Draco._ **

“I can’t believe Theo  _ knows _ this many people,” she leaned against the marble banister.

“He doesn’t. Most of them just kind of show up. Over there, you see the woman with the swan on her head?” Hermione nodded. “Ismelda Murk. Graduated before we started at Hogwarts. Next to her is Merula Snyde. Both of them were sympathizers but never called upon to serve.”

Hermione swallowed, remembering that she was the odd one out in this particular social situation. So often she and her friends were the center of attention, forced to shake hands and give speeches, that she forgot wizarding society was comprised of more than just those who fought alongside her. 

“See the red-head in the far corner, wearing her mask up? Tulip Karasu.”

“Wait, I know that name…” Hermione searched her memory. “Oh!” she exclaimed, nearly hitting Draco with her glass. “Merula Snyde. The two of them were involved in the Cursed Vaults!”

“You get extra credit for the things not covered in textbooks,” he flashed her a smirk, causing her to blush. “Middle of the room, white flume, silver mask.” Hermione craned, finding a man fitting the description. “Diego Caplan.”

“How do you know? He has a mask on.”

“The way he stands. His only claim to fame was dueling in school. Until your buddy Diggory came along. They’d never had a chance to duel one another so when Diggory was killed Caplan began to show his arse at these things. Watch him. Enough firewhiskey and he’ll demand everyone duel him.”

“How many of these things have you gone to?”

“Too many,” he bit. “Becomes easy to spot people when you’re forced to politely sit and listen to them chatter on and kiss arse.”

**_Draco!_ **

“That said these events were perfect for sneaking away to raid liquor cabinets.”

“You and Theo?”

“Absolute rapscallions,” Draco smiled, his eyes warm. “Got away with it for the longest time until his father caught us in the solarium with a century-old bottle of Ogdens.”

“What happened?”

“Nott Senior. Even my father was hesitant to punish me after seeing what Theo’s father did to him. It was one of the few times I recall my father using his position for something other than political gains…” his voice trailed off. 

“Have you--” Hermione began to ask, cutting herself off.  _ Am I allowed to ask about his father… ? _

“Woman by the window,” Draco shifted. “Plague mask. I can almost bet that is Jane Court.”

“Who?”

“Former Hufflepuff prefect turned Azkaban resident.”

“Really?”

“Two years. Not bad considering half of the absent patronage is currently serving life sentences.”

Hermione’s mirth died down. Seeing a room full of the children whose parents she helped condemn weighed differently than she had expected, a nagging feeling settling at the pit of her stomach. 

“Draco!” Both spun, spotting Daphne standing at the top of the stairs, dressed in an emerald Greecian inspired gown. “Why in Merlin’s name are you hiding?”

“Avoiding you, if it weren't obvious,” Draco drawled with a lopsided smile. Daphne’s eyes darted from him to Hermione, taking her form in. She cleared her throat expectantly causing Draco to sigh. “Daphne, Hermione. Hermione, Daphne.”

“See now was that so hard?” Daphne smiled, walking to Hermione. “Daphne Greengrass,” she held out her hand. “That dress is positively stunning. Rousteing?”

“Ricci,” Draco corrected her. 

“How on  _ earth _ did you get your hands on a Ricci?” 

“Don’t play dumb, Daph.” Draco eyed her knowingly. 

Daphne laughed, inspecting Hermione’s garment. “Very well. I must say, this material is positively exquisite. Do you wear couture often?” she asked Hermione. 

“Ah, no. Can’t say I do.”

“Well, your body is absolutely suited to it. Try as I might my mother's particular  _ gifts _ she passed along keep me from pulling off certain fabrics,” Daphne motioned to the swell of her breasts, causing Hermione to blush. “If you are ever in Milan you simply  _ must _ come in for a fitting. I’d love to design a piece or two for you. Scratch one another's backs and all that.” Daphne’s attention shifted as Theo suddenly appeared beside them. 

“Daph,” he leaned in to kiss her cheek. “I know you’re not hiding the centerpiece to your spring line?”

“I was looking for you and stumbled across Draco here,” her eyes narrowed. 

“Were you really? I’m touched,” he flashed her a grin. “Why?”

“To tell you to put some clothes on,” she smacked him on the arm. “It’s enough that I have to be here with Goyle and Pansy running around but to have to see your naked arse every time I turn?”

“What’s not to appreciate?” Theo turned around, Daphne covering her eyes as Hermione giggled. Daphne growled, pulling her wand to spark him. “Dammit Daphne!”

“Cover yourself,” she snapped, swishing her wand towards a tapestry. In a flash the fabric tore from the wall, transfiguring itself into a robe. 

“Quit that!” Theo yelped, a shot of yellow sparks singing his left cheek. Ripping the now-robe out of Daphne’s hands he wrapped himself in it. “Man goes to find his guests in his own home…” he grumbled.

“And why were you trying to find us?” Draco asked. 

“To warn you that Skeeter was looking for you.”

“Why is it that she’s here?” Draco glared at him. 

“Ah.  _ That  _ is for insurance purposes. Can't be implicated in the destruction of this place if there is photograph evidence proving otherwise.”

“You’re an idiot, Theo,” Daphne drawled, pinching the bridge of her nose. 

“I believe brilliant is what you meant to say.”

Daphne rolled her eyes, her attention setting back on Draco. “Take care of this vision,” she said before pushing past Theo to return downstairs. 

“To think, we almost dated,” Theo smirked. “Drawing room?”

“Bit early to retire?” Draco eyed him. 

“I’ve greeted, made my appearance,” he shrugged. “Besides, potion is wearing off.”

Draco turned to Hermione, eyes tracing up her body. “One spin around the dancefloor and we’ll be along?” he asked her indirectly, earning a nod. 

“Don’t dally, we’ve three centuries of posh untouched spirits to drink haphazardly without consequence.”

“Granger?” Draco held out his arm for her. 

Theo watched as the two descended the stairs into the crowd before turning his back on the party. Slipping out into the hallway he began the trek to the furthest wing of the estate, feeling the liveliness drain out of him as he went.

“I can assure you I have heard of no such thing, you insolent child,” Theo heard one of his paintings bark.

“There is no such thing as a gulping plimpy,” another chimed in. Theo turned the corner to find Luna Lovegood speaking with his ancestral portraits. He’d barely caught a glimpse of her in the crowd earlier, her mask which was now pushed up into her hair being a dead give away. 

_ Beautiful,  _ he thought before the paintings pulled his attention once more. 

“Theodore, who  _ is _ this child? And where  _ are _ your clothes?”

Luna’s attention snapped to Theo, her eyes going wide at his presence. “Luna is a friend,” he bit, anger rising, as he stepped between her and his paintings. While he was certain she didn’t need protection from a portrait he didn’t want them yelling at her either. 

“Blood traitors,” the painting turned up her nose. “The both of you. If your father could see you now… Lovegood,” she scoffed. “Brought down a fine house. Poor Hector.”

“Remove her from our sight,” the first portrait barked once more. “And find something appropriate to wear. You are a Nott. Act like it.”

“Do shut up, Claudius,” Theo waved at the portrait dismissively.

“Mind your tongue child!” Claudius roared. “I am--”

“Dead. Quite dead. Have been for a few centuries,” his attention turned to Luna. “I apologize for them,” he blushed, blue eyes locking on each other as he stared down at her. 

“Don’t you dare!” the other portrait shrieked. “Running around at a party in nothing more than a robe? Disgraceful.”

“If I could burn you lot I would have years ago,” he growled, his fists balling. 

“Insolence!”

“Your father--”

“Is no longer the master of this house!” he snapped, turning to face them. “I am! Now run along before I have a painting commissioned just to torture you til the end of days!” The paintings scowled at them before retreating into their own art. “Again, I am so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Luna smiled, softly, toying with the hem of her dress. “I shouldn’t have woken them.”

Theo blinked, taking Luna in: a wild mane of pale hair framed her face, her unusual dress suiting her perfectly. “Why… why did you wake them?” he found himself asking, pulling the robe around himself self consciously. 

“I had hoped they’d know which way to point me.”

“Are you lost?” He’d gotten lost many times in the halls as a small child, an elf having to find him before his father did. Most of the house remained warded against trespassers, the fact that she had wandered so far into the estate surprised him. 

“Oh no, I never get lost,” pink hues tinged her cheeks. “Maybe you can help me?” She tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear, making Theo wish he had been the one to do it. 

“Yes,” he answered without hesitation. “I mean, of course. What kind of host would I be if I didn’t?”

“Plimpies,” she turned on her heel, aimlessly wandering down the hall. 

“Plimpies?”

“Gulping ones, specifically. A nearly extinct breed of them lives here.”

“They do?”

“Oh yes.”

“And you’re…?”

“I need an accurate count. For my father.”

“Ah,” somehow it was all clicking together. “And how many have you found?”

“Five now.”

_ So peculiar… it’s cute. She’s cute. When did she become so cute? Has she always been— _

“Did you know there is a kneazle running loose in the games room?” Luna asked, a wide smile on her face. 

“Is  _ that  _ where it ran off to?” Theo turned, facing the direction of the beast. 

“It will be fine,” Luna reached out, touching his arm. Her face burned brilliantly as she dropped her hand, walking away. 

“Okay?” Theo’s brows furrowed in confusion. “Wait,” he chased after her. “Would… would you like a tour? Paintings are less likely to yell at you with me around. Besides, I can honestly say I’ve never seen a—”

“Gulping plimpy.”

“Right.” 

Luna turned, eyes bright. “I would love that,” she smiled, holding her arm out expectantly. 

Theo smiled, his heart skipping a beat as he held out his own for her to take. 

* * *

Hermione wasn’t sure if it was the giggle water, the atmosphere, or the company but she felt as though she were floating; spinning round and round the dancefloor, with a grace and ease she never would have expected. “You cannot expect me to believe you learned this in fourth year,” she laughed. 

“My mother insisted I be classically trained,” Draco smiled, hand firmly on the small of her back as he led her. “Ten years of ballroom dance.”

“You’re never going to fail to shock me, are you?”

“Not if I can help it.” Draco spun her out, her gold gown twirling around her feet. The song changed from Viennese waltz to a slower intimate cadence. “You’re not terrible for clearly having only taken that one lesson,” he pulled her closer, keeping time with the change in tempo.

“Can’t say I’ve had reason to know how to dance. Think this might be the fourth occasion I’ve had to? And none of my partners were quite as--”

“Yes?” Draco’s eyes flashed. 

“Not feeding your ego any further tonight,” Hermione bit her lip, rolling her eyes.

“No, no.  _ Do _ tell me how I measure up to your… what was it? Hungarian bonbon?” Hermione’s face turned scarlet at the memory of Viktor Krum. “Granger?”

“Malfoy?”

“Out with it.”

Hermione huffed. “Fine. If you  _ must  _ know--”

“I must.”

“Viktor was just as terrible a dancer as he was a kisser.”

“You two kissed?” Draco tried to contain his laughter.

“Yes,” she swatted at him. “First kiss actually.”

“Unfortunate.”

“Stop,” she scoffed with a smile. “It’s not as if I had anything to compare it to at the time.”

“And now?”

She stared at him pointedly, brow arched. “Would you like a chart comparing and contrasting Ron and Victor?” she asked sarcastically. 

“And any other bloke you might have locked lips with,” Draco smirked.

“You just want to know how many men I’ve kissed.”

“Not true. I just want your chart to be accurate.”

“Seven.”

“Seven?” Draco asked, shocked. 

“I mean, technically eight but I don’t count Cormac.”

“McLaggen?” his jaw dropped. An image of Slughorn's Christmas party he had pretended to crash flashed in her mind, glimpses of mistletoe and an unwanted kiss. “Tosser.”

“Yes, well,” Hermione looked down, remembering how she had only invited him to make Ron jealous.  _ Ridiculous in hindsight… _

“Four,” Draco said, spinning her.

“Four?” she looked back up. 

“Daphne, Pansy, Astoria, and one very drunk girl New Years before last.”

“You kissed Daphne?”

“In an ill-advised game of truth or dare, yes.”

“Interesting,” she found herself smiling.  _ Curious where Pansy rates on that list…  _ “And of those, you’ve shagged…?”

“Nosy swot,” he pulled her close, whispering into her ear. “If you  _ must _ know--”

“I must,” she inhaled, taking his scent in. 

“You are the third person to make that list.” 

A surge of conflicting emotions flooded Hermione, a sense of triumph confusing her the most.  _ Curious where I rate on  _ **_that_ ** _ list…  _ she thought, immediately chastising herself for wanting to be at the top of it.  _ You’re not going to compare to his wife. They were married for Merlin’s sake. Get a grip. _

“We should catch up with Theo,” Draco said, coming to an abrupt standstill, Hermione still swaying on her feet.

_ Of course, he’s here with  _ **_her_ ** _. Trying to make me jealous I suspect…  _

“Oh,” Hermione said softly, confused as to why his mood shifted so abruptly. 

_ Filthy little mudblood. His mother is likely rolling in her grave… _

**_You know that’s not true, Draco._ **

“Draco?” Hermione asked, her confusion turning to concern. Glancing up at him she followed his line of sight, seeing silver eyes tracking Pansy Parkinson as she shoved her way through the crowd.

“Draco?” Pansy’s voice mirrored Hermione’s.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, taking Hermione’s hand.

“There you are,” Pansy smiled, her attention focused on Draco. “You’re a hard man to find.”

“Not particularly,” he replied, emotionless. “Parkinson, Hermione,” he began to make introductions, Pansy stiffening at the formality of her last name. “Hermione, you remember Pa--”

“You  _ can’t _ be serious, Draco,” Pansy drawled, unamused. 

“Is there something you need?” 

“Yes, Draco. There is. I need you to remember that you are the Malfoy heir and that we are  _ contractually  _ obligated to one another,” she crossed her arms.

_ They’re what?!  _ Hermione’s heart sank.

“I’ve had quite enough of you and your little dalliances,” she glared at him. “Astoria I was willing to forgive given her  _ situation _ but this,” she pointed to Hermione, “is an embarrassing slap to the face.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Pansy. Truly, I am. But this,” he squeezed Hermione’s hand, “has nothing to do with you.”

“It most certainly does!” Pansy shrieked, catching the attention of the nearby dancers. “A woman of  _ my  _ standing--”

“Deserves to be with a man of your standing, yes. So I  _ suggest _ you go find him. Goyle is still on the market right?”

“DRACO MALFOY!” Pansy screamed, stomping her foot. “OUR FATHERS--”

“Made a poor decision when we were three, Pans. A verbal one at that. Even if it  _ were _ legally witnessed it would have no bearing whatsoever as the two who came up with the asinine idea of us being wed are rotting away in Azkaban,” Draco turned, facing a wide-eyed Hermione. “I should show you Theo’s libraries before we leave.”

“Libraries?” her heart kick-started again. “As in plural?” 

“Three,” he smirked.

“Oh no you don’t,” Pansy skittered in the direction of the exit, blocking their path. “What about everything you said last month? All of the things you promised me when I was laying in your bed?”

_ Last month? _

“ _ Two _ months ago,” he corrected her. “Forgive a man for being drunk and lonely.” He turned again, pointing himself and Hermione towards the other exit.

“WE ARE NOT DONE HERE!”  _ I don't care if they lock me up, I’ll be damned before I see him pick  _ **_her_ ** _ over me!  _

“Hold on,” Draco told Hermione, preparing to disapparate out of the room. Just before the world spun Pansy’s wand went flying across the room, being caught by none other than Astoria Greengrass.

With a gasp Hermione fell, crashing inside what she could only assume was a broom cupboard; a handle coming down to hit her in the head. “Ow!” she shouted, Draco landing on top of her half a second later.

“Shit! Are you okay?”

“Fine,” she fumbled in the dark, reaching for her wand in the hidden sleeve sewn into her dress’ lining.

“I was aiming for the library,” Draco growled, trying to untangle himself from her as a small beam of light lit the cramped space. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked once more, sitting back before reaching for the broken jeweled mask. 

“Fine. Promise,” she whispered, realizing that their faces were mere inches from one another. Detangling the mask from her hair he let it fall, his thumb tracing down the side of her face. “Your mask--”

“Doesn't matter,” his eyes darted to her lips in the dimly lit room, furrowing in conflict. Hermione’s breathing became shallow as he leaned in, touching his forehead to hers. 

“Dra--” she began, his name catching in her throat. 

“I  _ can’t _ not kiss you any longer,” his breath whispered across her face. 

“I--” She couldn’t form the words, her throat beginning to swell shut.  _ Can’t… breathe…  _ Her world went dark as she collapsed in his arms. 

“Granger?” Draco pulled back, panic surging in him. “Granger?!” he shook her, not getting a response. His fingers quickly found her pulse, slow and lethargic. “Fuck!” Draco tried and failed to disapparate her out of the room, slamming them up against the wall of the closet. Warm liquid ran between his fingers as he searched for her pulse once more. 

**_Think, Draco._ **

“SESSY!” He screamed, laying Hermione out flat to begin chest compressions. In an instant the elf appeared. “HELP!”  _ One, two, three, four, five, six…  _

“What’d ya want?” The elf asked casually, snapping her fingers to create light. She shrieked at the sight, Hermione’s blood freely flowing from an open gash down the side of her arm. “WHAT DID YOU DO?!”

**_Think, Draco._ **

“The wards! We have to get her out!” He pulled his bowtie off with force, wrapping it around the upper portion of her arm into a tourniquet. 

Sessy reached for Hermione, her brows furrowed as she unsuccessfully tried to move her. “It’s a curse, not a ward,” she shook her head. “Her wound won't heal.”

**_Think, Draco. You have to think._ **

“I AM THINKING!” He breathed oxygen into her lungs before beginning compressions again. “THEO! NOW!” Draco barked at Sessy.  _ Seven, eight, nine, ten… _

**_Being a Malfoy has saved you from more than one curse…_ **

“I can’t do that…” _ Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen,  _ he continued his compressions.

**_You must, Draco. You can’t let her die, not when you can save her._ **

“She wouldn’t want this… ”  _ Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen…  _

**_She won’t last much longer._ **

Draco pumped two more breaths into her before reaching for his wand again. “REVELLIO!” He removed the disillusionment charm concealing his father's signet ring, the Malfoy family ring. Pausing for a brief second he shook his head, continuing to pump Hermione’s chest. “She won’t forgive me.”

**_Save her. You know what to do._ **

“Mother… I can’t… ”  _ Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two…  _

**_Listen to me! For once just do what I ask!_ **

“Fuck!” Draco grabbed his ring. “In hunc annulum sanguinem meum, et iam tuum est,” he murmured the same words his father had spoken to him,  pulling the signet off his hand, thrusting it onto Hermione’s left ring finger. “Sanctimonia Vincet Semper.” The ring sized down to fit Hermione’s slender finger, a soft green glow emitting from it as it did. 

“Mom?” Draco asked aloud, hearing no response for the first time in four years. A blast erupted, shattering the door to the closet. Sessy, Theo, and Astoria all standing in terror of the scene before them: Draco Malfoy covered in Hermione Granger’s blood. “Help me!” Draco screamed, applying pressure to her wound.

“Draco,” Astoria whispered, eyes trained on Hermione's ring finger. “What did you do?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for all of your love and support! Honestly, I was terrified to start writing for this fandom, but y'all have been nothing but supportive from the beginning. It's because of your awesome comments that I keep pushing myself further on this fic.. which is hilarious retrospectively as it was only supposed to be three chapters... needless to say I have fallen in love with this and while there is an ending I couldn't even begin to tell you when that might be lol 
> 
> Follow me on Twitter where I do all of the random polls affecting this story (@crystymre)


	8. Wake Up, Darling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco did what he had to do... but will it be enough?

✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵

_ “What  _ **_have_ ** _ you done?” Narcissa seethed, her wand pointed directly at Severus’ unmoving face.  _

_ “Correct me if I’m wrong but I believe I saved your son’s life,” he drawled.  _

_ “By letting the Potter boy discover your little spell diary?” Bellatrix chimed in, circling the pair. “You were supposed to  _ **_protect_ ** _ him. You made the oath!” _

_ “I  _ **_did_ ** _ protect him,” Severus growled.  _

_ “No, you simply countered a curse that he never should have learned!” Bellatrix screeched, causing Narcissa to flinch. _

_ “Did I, or did I not, convince Lucius to give Draco the ring prior to his failed mission in the Department of Mysteries?” _

_ “Ring?” Bellatrix asked, staring at her sister. “What ring?” _

_ “The Malfoy signet,” she answered calmly, lowering her wand. _

_ “What has that got to do with this?!” _

_ “Unlike other house signets, the Malfoy one is rare in that it is charmed to protect the wearer.” _

_ “Protect them from what?” _

_ “Curses,” Severus answered. “Let me assure you that my  _ **_little_ ** _ spell is lethal. Draco could not have survived were it not for the ring he wore.” _

_ “Is this true, Sissy?” _

_ “The signet ring is the one true Malfoy heirloom,” Narcissa turned, walking towards the window of her drawing-room. “Its magic is bound to the wearer by blood oath. ‘This ring is in my blood, and it is yours’.”  _

_ “What does that mean?” Bellatrix shook her head, unable to wrap her head around it. _

_ “The magic, the protection, that the ring offers can only be given by the wearer.” _

_ “And you  _ **_knew_ ** _ about this?” Bellatrix turned to Severus. _

_ “I had heard… rumors,” his face remained impassive. “With our Dark Lord’s return and Draco’s coming of age I thought it... useful. Anything to keep my godson safe, of course.” _

_ “Why Sissy named  _ **_you_ ** _ Draco’s godfather I will never understand,” Bellatrix’s eyes narrowed. _

_ “Should she have chosen Rodolphus?” Severus’s brow arched. _

_ “What makes this ring so special?” She turned back to Narcissa, studying her sister's silhouette in the window.  _

_ “Armand Malfoy.” Narcissa turned back, eyes locking on Bellatrix.  _

_ Bellatrix sighed. “Forgive me for not studying your husband's family tree,” she bit sarcastically. _

_ “Armand Malfoy was the first to settle here. Crafted the cornerstone that wards this manor. He is also the first known wearer of the ring that just saved my son’s life.” The witch turned to Severus who was studying her intently. “What do you know of Horcruxes?” _

_ His eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. “Very little I am afraid.”  _

_ “The Malfoy signet is rumored to have been the first.” _

_ “You expect me to believe that you conveniently have possession of the first-ever Horcrux?” Bellatrix asked pointedly, earning a glance from Severus.  _

_ “Believe what you will, I know what I read in Lucius’s ancestral diaries.” _

_ “Must be nice to have frivolous downtime to spend reading.” _

_ “Azkaban didn’t have libraries?” Narcissa glared.  _

_ Bellatrix’s face matched her sister’s. “What did these ancestors have to say?” _

_ “Armand Malfoy was the first to make record of the ring, of its properties. Armand’s mother, Aurelie, was a French witch. A twin. Her sister, Thérèse, was one half of her soul--” _

_ “Did Beedle write this too?” _

_ “Would you stop?!” Narcissa snapped, earning a slight smirk from Severus. “The two sisters were inseparable until Auriele was wed. Thérèse became bitter with jealousy. Even more so when Auriele announced that she was pregnant, as Thérèse was believed to be barren.”  _

_ Bellatrix stopped fidgeting long enough to eye her sister.  _

_ “When Armand was an infant, envy drove Thérèse to madness. She killed Auriele’s husband before hunting her own sister and nephew down. Wanting her sister all to herself Thérèse cast an Avada at Armand.” _

_ “Clearly Armand lived,” Bellatrix rolled her eyes, tapping her foot impatiently.  _

_ “Clearly,” Severus drawled.  _

_ “Before the curse could hit Armand, Aurelie threw herself in front of him. Accounts of the time say that Auriele countered, her soul-shattering to do so. It is believed that a piece of herself latched itself to her wedding ring, the only thing Armand brought with him when he immigrated to England during the battle.” _

_ “So Draco’s great great whatever-grandmother played fast and loose with some Avada and her soul is what kept him alive yesterday?” _

_ “I have no other reason to believe otherwise.” _

_ “Bond of blood…” Severus muttered, his brows furrowed in thought. _

_ “Didn’t you wear that ring on your wedding day?” Bellatrix asked, her brows furrowed in thought. _

_ “I’m surprised you remembered, but yes.” _

_ “Must warm your heart knowing Parkinson’s little pug nose brat will be wearing it here soon,” Bellatrix taunted. _

_ “No  _ **_official_ ** _ vow was made between Lucius and Cassius,” Narcissa’s lip snarled.  _

_ “Yet,” she paused. “Well, as lovely as this visit was,” Bellatrix turned on her heel, facing Severus. A wicked grin curled at her lips.“Suppose I don’t get to kill you today.” _

_ “Pity.” _

* * *

Astoria Greengrass had about enough of Pansy Parkinson’s shit. Growing up with the dark-haired beauty she knew all of her secrets, all of her family’s secrets, all of her ancestors’ secrets. Such was life in a pureblood household. She knew of Pansy’s deep-seated possessiveness over Draco, the unofficial “arrangement” she loved to brag about, and absolutely abhorred it. Being two years behind Draco and Daphne she watched from afar as Pansy tried and failed to sink her fingers into the blond.

Sure, he had reluctantly taken Pansy to the Yule Ball, him having asked Daphne and Tracey Davis first. But Draco had sat and sulked the entire time, being as poor an escort as possible, excessively so for his own breed of distemperment. Of course Pansy hadn’t seen it that way, her citing it as their first date. 

What history seemed to have forgotten, a particular detail slipping the Slytherin class’s mind, was that while Draco moped and sulked during the ball his attention was focused on a particular pink-clad Gryffindor and her Hungarian date. Astoria had noticed, of course, sitting with her fourth-year date at a seperate table.

As far as Astoria was concerned the Yule Ball was the beginning of Draco’s fixation with Hermione Granger. For years she watched Draco watching Hermione. His alleged hatred for her, the result of Lucius’s conditioning, was laced with envy and intrigue. If there was one thing Astoria knew about Draco during the years leading up to the war it was that he didn’t  _ envy _ anyone; a Malfoy trait it seemed. 

Rita Skeeter’s articles were always something Astoria took with a grain of salt, so she was pleasantly surprised to see the headline spotting them together at the Cauldron; positively delighted to see followup articles at various events. One, because she knew it would send Pansy into an absolute fit. And two, because she truly wanted her ex-husband to be happy. 

Dark and turmoiled history aside, Astoria could recognize a crush when she saw it, even if it was buried under layers of resentment and feigned hatred. She also knew that the same prejudices that led him to “hate” Hermione quickly faded once Draco was no longer under Lucius’s oppressive rule. Throughout the course of her own courting with Draco and subsequent marriage she watched the terrified boy transform into an assured adult, free to admit his admiration for Hermione; late-night discussions of what happened in his drawing-room haunting him and his nightmares.

The same nightmares that were likely flashing through his overactive mind as he paced in front of his hotel room door, Astoria’s on-call doctor inside the bedroom with a bloodied and unconscious Hermione. 

“Draco,” Astoria whispered, reaching out for Draco to stop him. “You need to calm down.”

“Calm down?” his head whipped to her, silver eyes wild. “She almost died!”

“But she didn’t,” Astoria tried to assure him. 

“I almost fucking killed her!”

“You  _ saved _ her, Draco.”

“Is that what that is?!” His hand whipped out, pointing at the closed door. 

“If you hadn’t--”

“Twice! Twice now I’ve had to watch her nearly die!”

Astoria stepped forward, grabbing him firmly on either arm.  _ Don’t do this to yourself. Not again.  _

“Bellatrix would be so very fucking proud,” he struggled out of her hold, his posture defensive.

Her hand flew out, smacking him across the cheek. “Don’t you  _ dare _ ,” she hissed at him. “What happened tonight was  _ not  _ your fault. If you hadn’t put that ring on her she would have died, yes. But you did. And she won’t.”

“How do you know?” he snapped, Astoria able to hear the desperation in his voice. 

“It saved you. It will save her. That’s what the ring  _ does _ , Draco.” 

Draco’s shoulders slumped as he leaned onto Astoria, head resting on her shoulder. “She can’t die,” he whispered, Astoria’s arms coming around him to soothe him as they had so many times before. “I can’t lose anyone else,” he confessed quietly.

“You won’t,” Astoria promised. “Have you forgotten the years when her ‘survivability’ was a topic of concern amongst our parents?” She could feel the reluctant laugh roll off of him. “She’s strong, Draco.”  _ Stronger than me… Stronger than Narcissa….  _

Draco stood upright, collecting himself. “I need a drink,” he declared. Astoria eyed him. “Don’t,” he pointed a finger at her before stalking down the hall.

As Draco entered the living room, finding a now dressed Theo and Blaise pillaging his bar, a crack sounded -Harry Potter popping into existence. “TOTALUS!” The last half of his incantation roared, dropping Draco to the floor. As Astoria screamed three other wands were drawn, all pointed at the Chosen One. Another crack sounded, Sessy appearing, who with a snap of her fingers disarmed the other Slytherins. “WHERE IS SHE?!” Harry shouted, four hands pointing towards the bedroom.

Astoria watched Harry bolt for the bedroom as she walked toward Draco. “Could have at least warned us,” she shot a look at Sessy before kneeling down beside her petrified ex-husband. 

“You ever try to stop ‘im when he’s mad?” Sessy jabbed her thumb in the direction of the bedroom. 

“OUT!” Astoria heard her doctor yell at Harry. 

“But--”

“OUT!”

Pulling her wand Astoria muttered the counter-curse, placing her hand on his chest to stop him from jumping up.

“I don’t care  _ who _ you are, Mr. Potter,” the doctor’s voice was closer now. She looked up, seeing the old man back Harry into the room, a gnarly old finger pointed at him accusingly. “I require a fair amount of concentration to work. Especially when dealing with a curse like this.”

“Curse?” Harry asked. 

Draco sat up slowly beside her, listening to the conversation. 

“What’s… what’s wrong with her?” the edge in Harry’s voice softened.

“My best guess is that the wards placed upon Nott Estate to keep out muggles and,” the doctor cleared his throat, “er, half-bloods etcetera… the wards that would have normally  _ deterred _ her presence latched onto the dark magic already in her system.”

“What dark magic?” Harry and Draco said in unison. 

“Cruciatus,” the doctor said with certainty. 

Beside her, she felt Draco stiffen. 

_ This is  _ **_not_ ** _ your fault, Draco _ , she reassured him silently. 

“Wards like these aren’t simply  _ boobytraps _ designed to ensnare the unsuspecting. Centuries of reinforced magics with the added spells… well, I daresay that some take on a life of their own; this one clearly trying to feed the residual magic.”

“So she’s in pain?” Draco asked quietly, Astoria able to hear the strain in his voice. 

“I honestly couldn’t tell you,” the doctor said solemnly. “Her vitals tell me no, her heart rate normal. No physical signs of distress. Which is due in part to your signet I believe. It appears to be  _ absorbing _ the Cruciatus out of her system. Albeit slowly. Whatever protections you have on that ring they are undoubtedly saving her life.”

_ I told you. _

“Has she woken at all?” Harry asked.

“No. And I doubt she will until whatever curse holding her breaks,” the doctor turned to Theo. “I don’t suppose you have any idea what magics were put into the estate’s wards?”

Theo’s eyes darted to the floor. “No, sir.”

Draco stood, holding out his hand to help Astoria up off the floor as the doctor pondered. “Until I know what I am working against here her best hope is the ring. I can stitch her splice wound of course. Treat it with dittany. She’ll scar undoubtedly but I should think that’s the least of her worries right now.”

“Splice wounds?” Harry turned to face her and Draco, his eyes dark. 

“If you’ll excuse me,” the doctor waved his wand quickly, creating a barrier between the group and what was to become his operating room. 

Harry continued to stare at Draco, weighing what the doctor had just said.

_ Don’t provoke him, Draco. Not now. Not-- _

“Got something to say, Potter?” Draco snapped. 

Harry rushed him, his fist connecting with Draco’s nose. Before Astoria could scream she felt an arm around her waist, Blaise pulling her out of their path. Draco rocked back, Harry readying himself for another punch. 

“Com’on Potter, gotta punch like you mean it,” Draco bit as Harry’s fist broke his nose, blood beginning to gush. 

Fueled by Draco’s words Harry landed another hit, this time knocking him to the ground. Harry jumped on top of him, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt. “I fucking warned you!”

“I know!” Draco spat blood away from them.

“She almost died!”

“I know!”

“ _ You _ did this!”

“I know!”

Harry reached for his wand, pressing the tip to Draco’s throat. “Fix this! Fix this now and I’ll consider giving you a cell with a window!”

“If I knew how to  _ fix _ it don’t you think I bloody well would have by now?” Draco snapped, anger rising in him. “Do you think I did this intentionally?” Draco pushed into Harry’s wand, fury in his eyes. “Do you think this is all part of some long twisted scheme?”

“Mate,” Theo spoke up, trying to warn him. 

“No,” Draco shouted. “Do you honestly think that I had to grovel, had to fucking plead, with  _ two  _ ministries to get permission to return just so I could bed her and then fucking try to kill her?!”

Harry’s eyes narrowed, his wand wrist-twisting as he drove the tip back further into Draco’s throat. 

“Do you think this is all part of  _ Voldemort’s  _ grand fucking plan?!”

A collective gasp came from his classmates, Harry’s eyes flashing momentarily before he sat back, lowering his wand. 

“Draco…” Astoria whispered in shock. 

Harry exhaled. “What  _ is  _ she to you?”

“I don’t know,” the fight in Draco disappeared at the question, his head falling back as he wiped his bloodied nose with his torn sleeve. “I don’t fucking know…”

“But she’s something.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. One that everyone in the room somehow understood. 

“Yes,” Draco said quietly. 

Studying him for half a second longer Harry finally rolled off the blond to stand. “Sessy,” he turned to the elf who had been watching the fight with mild interest. “Inform Kingsley I’ve got it handled.”

Sessy’s eyes narrowed. “You lot seem to be forgettin’ I don’t work for ya.”

“Please,” Harry exasperated.

“You owl New York and tell ‘em I want a raise,” she pointed a finger at Harry. 

“Done.”

Sessy smiled before snapping her fingers twice before disappearing, wands returned to their rightful owners.

Blaise let go of Astoria, placing a soft kiss on the side of her head before walking to Draco, helping him to his feet. “Episkey,” Blaise muttered, fixing Draco’s nose. 

“Thanks,” Draco muttered.

_ Play nice,  _ Astoria warned. 

“Don’t worry,” he grumbled at her, crossing the space towards the bar where Theo was still staring at the ground. 

“We need to check the estate,” Theo said quietly. 

“Bit hard with that party going on, mate,” Blaise shot him a sympathetic look, returning to Astoria’s side.

“If I can find the cornerstone…” Theo trailed off. 

“If you can find the cornerstone what?” Harry asked, his brows furrowed in question. 

“If I can find it I can destroy it. If I can destroy it--”

“The entire estate would come down,” Daphne said, speaking for the first time since the commotion began. 

“That was the goal wasn’t it?” Theo looked up to her quietly. 

“Theo,” Daphne’s face was more compassionate than Astoria had seen in years, save her own prognosis. 

Harry let out a bark of laughter, something akin to madness she thought. “The irony…” Draco was the next to laugh, understanding the unspoken joke Potter was laughing at. “You get it,” his face softened, joining Draco at the bar. “Got any of that McMillian’s?”

Draco and Harry kept laughing, Draco pulling the muggle whiskey from the topmost shelf. “She’d kick all of our asses,” Draco was nearly in tears as he poured the whiskey, handing it to Harry. 

“After solving this of course,” Harry held up his glass, Draco clanking the bottle against it before they both took a swig. 

“I fail to see what’s so funny,” Daphne scolded them.

“She’s a curse breaker!” Draco laughed, Harry holding onto his shoulder as the wizard nearly doubled over.

Theo was the first to join them, exhaustion and irony leading him to the same hysterics. Soon enough the entire room was laughing, the doctor walking back in confused. “Ahem,” he said just loud enough to catch all of their attention. “Sewn up, bleeding has stopped. Her vitals are stable. Until I know which curse I am working with I will take my leave.” He turned to Astoria. “I’ll be back in the morning, call me should you need me.”

“I will have your fee deposited,” Astoria smiled graciously. 

The doctor left the room, the group collecting itself. Harry cleared his throat awkwardly before finishing his whiskey, setting the glass down neatly on the bar. “May I?” he asked, pointing in the direction of the bedroom where Hermione lay.

“Now you ask permission?”

“You’d have done the same thing,” Harry said reactively, surprised looks coming from the others. 

_ He’s not wrong,  _ Astoria agreed.  _ You’d have done more than paralyzed him… _

“I wouldn’t have needed the elf,” Draco growled at Harry, staring at Astoria. Striding across the room she followed Draco to the bedroom, admittedly curious as to Hermione’s condition but also knowing that Harry would follow suit; her ready to play peacekeeper should the need arise. 

Crossing the threshold she stopped, nearly gasping as she took in the unconscious brunette. Bloodstained, the gold dress she had admired so much at the party was destroyed; the intricate beading torn as a result of Draco’s inability to disapparate. Her once beautifully tanned skin was ghostly pale, her lips void of color as she lay motionless. A familiar diagnostics charm hung above her head, her heart beat slow but steady. 

“Shit,” she heard Harry behind her. Moving aside to let him in he went to the left side of the bed, taking her hand. 

Astoria had seen the Malfoy signet on Hermione’s hand when she was carried in, but she had been so distracted with the gaping wounds and Draco’s shouting that it hadn’t really set in.  _ The  _ ring. His ring. On her left ring finger…

_ You know what this means…  _

“Not now,” Draco warned her, stepping to the closet to find another blanket, Harry missing his obvious misstep.

Sensing that the two men had exhausted their testosterone for the night, Astoria took a seat in the corner of the room, casting a second glance at Hermione as Draco covered her with a blanket. 

* * *

**_Wake up, darling._ **

A voice slowly pulled Hermione back to the surface of a nightmare she seemed perpetually stuck in. Caught. Pinned. Scarred. Bellatrix’s laugh scratched at her nerves, tormenting her.  _ “You’ll never escape.”  _ The words had never been spoken by the witch but the sentiment was there, the haunting dread seeping into her very being. It was a purgatory all her own.

**_You need to wake up._ **

Her arm burned, her throat sore. She could neither move nor breathe, crushed under the weight of her nightmare. Bellatrix laughed again, her nerves on fire, her body wanting to arc and writhe but unable to release the building pain within. 

**_It’s not real. Bella is dead._ **

The nightmare started over. 

**_You’re stronger than this, Hermione. Fight it._ **

_ I can’t _ , her own voice echoed in her head, slipping under the surface of her terror.

**_You can and you must._ **

Bellatrix again, taunting her, relishing in her torture, grabbing her wrist to pull her down into her fears.

Her arm burned, the drag of the knife searing her skin as it carved into her flesh. The heat traveled the length of her arm, shooting to her fingertips as though they were being pricked by needles, simultaneous and eternal.

In her head she screamed, the sound muted by the Death Eater’s cackle. Blinding heat seared into her once again. Was it a ‘U’ or was it an ‘O’? The pain shot to her fingers in a wave yet again, but this time the stabbing pricks of needles didn’t follow. 

Her ring finger superheated, the pain somehow more blinding than the word carved jaggedly into her. 

_ “In hunc annulum sanguinem meum, et iam tuum est.”  _ The words echoed in her head, quiet and distant at first. 

The terror began again: caught, pinned, cut into once again. Bellatrix laughed. Hermione screamed. The pain of the Cruciatus coursed through her body. But the voice… the voice grew louder, more pronounced. Her left ring finger burned. 

The loop replayed. The incantation becoming so loud it drowned out the sound of her own cries. The pain lessened to an almost tolerable level.

**_Wake up, darling._ **

Oxygen flooded into her system, lungs on fire as they seemingly took first breath, her chest sore as though it had been cracked in two. She couldn’t move, couldn’t see; her eyes unable to open. 

_ What had happened? _

“Did you see that?” Hermione heard a familiar voice. “The charm, her stats or whatever… they spiked or--”

“Which one?” Draco’s voice. Relief consumed her hearing him, though she was quite certain she had  _ just  _ heard him. 

“The middle one.” Harry. She would cry if she thought she could.  _ Could she? Could she do  _ **_anything_ ** _? _

“Her BPM?”

“The middle one,” Harry repeated. 

Hermione could feel a warm presence next to her, smelling the now-familiar leather and spice essence of Draco. She could feel his hands on her, hot in contrast to her cool skin. Graceful fingers checked her pulse, a hand pushing hair out of her face. 

“Still the same,” she heard Draco say. She could hear the defeat in his voice.

_ The same as what? What happened to her? _

**_Survival, my sweet child._ **

“We need to clean her,” a feminine voice pierced Hermione’s consciousness. “We shouldn’t let her lay like that.” The comment was met with silence. “Draco?”

She could hear his sharp inhale, practically feel the hesitation roll off of him. “I… I can’t.” The bed shifted again.

“You can sleep with her but not change her?” the woman asked. 

“It’s… no.”

“Harry?”

“Don’t look at me,” she heard her friend exclaim as though she had cooties. 

“Children,” the woman scolded. “Both of you. Take the blanket off for a second?”

“‘Tori,” Draco’s voice warned. “That’s too much spellwork for you tonight. Thanks for that Potter.”

_ Tori? Astoria? _ Hermione couldn’t remember if she had ever heard the woman’s voice before. 

“Sorry about that,” she heard Harry apologize.

_ Sorry for what? What had happened? _

“Becoming a habit,” Draco snapped. 

“Eight years is hardly a habit,” Harry bit back. 

“Are you two done?” Hermione heard Astoria ask impatiently. She could feel the blanket slip from her body, the cold seizing her the second it did. Astoria spoke, Hermione’s skin suddenly felt refreshed as though layers of stuck-on grime had been lifted after years. As quickly as the cold consumed her warmth flooded her, coaxing her back into a deep sleep. 

**_Not yet, love._ **

_ When?  _ she asked the only voice she didn’t recognize, not entirely uncertain she hadn’t gone crazy as well. 

“Thank you,” Hermione heard Draco thank Astoria. 

“Don’t suppose destroying a cornerstone is a simple matter?” Harry asked. 

“For the prat who took down Voldemort?” Draco’s voice had more levity in it than Hermione could have believed.

“I will be at the estate by seven. If you and Nott aren't there, expect the entirety of the ministry to be there by eight.” Hermione could hear the edge in Harry’s voice. How desperately she wanted to sit up and tell them all she was okay. But was she okay?

Hermione felt the mood of the room change, undoubtedly to Harry’s absence. 

“You have to stop doing this,” Astoria said to Draco. “You have to stop blaming yourself.”

“Why shouldn’t I blame myself?” 

“What happened tonight wasn’t your fault.”

“To hell, it wasn’t. If I was so fucking preoccupied with kissing her that--”

_ They'd kissed?  _

“Draco. What happened was an unfortunate accident. You had no more control over this than Narcissa’s death--”

“Don’t!” Draco snapped, before exhaling loudly. “Tori, I appreciate it but you have to stop trying to fix me.”

“And you have to stop blaming yourself for things outside of your control.”

“She almost died.”

“She didn’t.”

“But--”

“Draco,” Astoria bit his name with finality. 

There was a pause. A soundless void in her semi-lucid consciousness.

“I’m scared,” she heard Draco admit, quiet, his voice full of pain.

“I know.”

“She’s--”

“I know.” Hermione didn’t know much about Astoria outside of second-hand reports but just from the sound of her voice, the way she was trying to soothe the obviously panicked Draco… she could hear the love Astoria had for him. 

“It’s more than that.  _ She’s  _ more than that.”

“I can honestly say I’m not surprised,” Astoria laughed softly. “You had the most ridiculous crush on her at Hogwarts.”

“Did not,” Draco scoffed indignantly, though even to Hermione’s ears it sounded unconvincing. 

“I saw you long before you saw me,” she said with a knowing tone. “Had Lucius not corrupted you the way he did, had we not been born in this world and her another, you two would have been quite the match.”

**_She’s not wrong. He never could stop talking about you. Enraged his father._ **

“Tori…”

“We had our time. I will never discount that. But you two… Pansy has every right to feel jealous.”

“We could  _ not  _ mention her.”

Another pause.

“Hermione could give you everything I couldn’t,” his ex-wife stated quietly. 

“Could you stop?”

“My days are numbered, Draco. I will say what I please.”

“Once she wakes, realizes what happened, finds out what I am…”

“You haven’t told her?” Hermione could hear the question in Astoria’s voice.

“I meant to. Truly. I just--”

Astoria sighed. “I don’t claim to know or understand her but she doesn’t strike me as impetuous. What that monster  _ did  _ to you, to your mother… if anyone in this world could empathize it's her.”

_ Who?  _

**_You know who._ **

_ What did he do? _

**_I tried to spare him, tried to save him from the pain… Lucius just… watched. Draco was so brave…_ **

“Is this before or after she turns me in to Potter for practicing illegally--”

“You have no control over that,” Astoria cut in sharply.

“Nearly killing her?” Draco continued. “Or magically binding her to a family that would have seen her dead less than a decade ago?”

_ Magically bound? _

**_A conversation for another day._ **

“Right now let's focus on making her comfortable. Tomorrow you three will sort out whatever curse is inside that ward and then…” Astoria faded off. “And then you need to tell her. Everything.”

“How?”

“I suggest by telling her that you’re falling for her.”

“Am I that transparent?”

“To me you are. Do you still remember that charm you’d use on Narcissa after her seizures?”

“I don’t think--”

“That much dark magic coursing through her system? She needs as much peace as we can offer her.” 

Hermione felt the bed sink once more, the warmth of Draco’s lips pressing against her forehead before she felt the tip of his wand on her temple. 

**_Sweet dreams, darling. We will talk again soon._ **

Her world went darker yet, the warmth pulling her into a dreamless sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Earlier rant aside if you want to rant, rave, scream, or shoot your theories at me you can reach me @crystymre on Twitter. 
> 
> I have up update schedule pinned there and tend to throw out random sneak peeks when I'm on a roll :) 
> 
> Thank you, everyone!


	9. Draco Will Be Fine...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Destroy the house, lift the curse... simple right? This was what Theo wanted after all...

✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵

To say that Draco slept like shit was an understatement. Daphne and Theo left in the early hours of the morning, Blaise and Astoria sometime before that. Draco sat at Hermione’s side the entire time, holding her hand, his thumb tracing the ring he’d forced on her hand. 

He could feel the light thrum of the magic beneath his fingertip, the warmth and comfort the ring was undoubtedly bringing her. When he was certain he was alone he spoke to both Hermione and the ring if only to ease his own mind. 

“Seven generations this ring has been in my family,” he stroked Hermione’s hand absently. “How I had longed to possess it as a child. Wanted to wear it proudly. Show the world that I was a Malfoy.” He laughed lightly. “The day my father gave it to me, the day Severus forced him to it, I should have been over the moon. Thing was, I hated my father for it. He’d ruined the family. His failure in the Department of Mysteries…” 

Draco squeezed Hermione’s hand. “Well, you know. You were there. Fighting against my father and aunt. A victory for you undoubtedly but that’s not how  _ he  _ saw it. The monster my father invited into our home.” 

He inhaled deeply. “Even if you hate me for this, even if you never wish to speak to me again, I’m glad it belongs to you now. Willing to bet you could transfigure that ‘M’ into a ‘G’.” Draco glanced up at the diagnostic charm, assuring himself that the ring was doing it’s job.

Sitting back he let his mind wander, the scene entirely too familiar.

_ “Draco?” Narcissa blinked awake, blue eyes finding silver in the early morning light.  _

_ “Mother?” Draco leaned forward, his voice hopeful. _

_ “How long this time?” she asked, her throat sore and dry. _

_ “Four days.” _

_ “I am so sorry, love,” tears threatened.  _

_ “Don’t,” he held up his hand. “This is  _ **_not_ ** _ your fault. None of this is your fault.” _

_ “You shouldn’t have to endure--” _

_ “Stop!” he snapped, his eyes turning cold and dark. “You are my mother. It is my responsibility to--” _

_ “Watch me die?” Blue eyes fought back tears. “Come now,” she held up a weak arm, loosely chained to the bed, scooting over in her bed to make room. “We don’t know how long I have. I won’t spend my time arguing with you.”  _

_ Draco exhaled, crawling in beside her. He pulled her small frame against his, hoping his heat could warm her more. A fragment of the woman he remembered, a shadow of the majesty she once carried. His mother curled into his chest.  _

_ “What news?” she asked quietly.  _

_ “Tori is to marry Blaise,” he stroked Narcissa’s snow-white locks.  _

_ “Seems sudden,” Narcissa stated without feeling. _

_ “So long as she is happy,” he assured both his mother and himself. “I offered her the ring again.” _

_ “She refused?” _

_ “Tori is nothing if not stubborn.” _

_ “That girl is a realist, Draco. Some things can’t be fixed.” _

_ A silence weighed heavily between them. _

_ “I still think--” _

_ “It will do me no good,” he could feel her shake her head. “What’s done is done. Besides, the magic doesn’t work that way. Once given--” _

_ “It can never be taken back. Yes, yes. Believe me, I’ve spent enough time studying it.” _

_ “One day you will meet someone. Someone worthy of the Malfoy family name, of the ring.” _

_ “Whatever good the family name is…” he said bitterly.  _

_ “Don’t let your father ruin that as well.” _

_ “Why not? Ruined everything else.” _

_ “You can’t let the hate eat at your heart, Draco. You are better than him.” _

_ “Not a high measure to meet,” he scoffed. “Can’t see myself selling my family to a genocidal psychopath to watch them be tortured…” he trailed off, anger rising.  _

_ “Times were different.” _

_ “You speak as if it were decades ago and not years.” _

_ “The world was different then. Even if it was only a few years ago.” _

_ “Quit defending him. It’s his fucking fault you’re broken. His fucking fault I’m losing you.” _

_ “Maybe so. But you will find it in yourself to forgive him one day.” _

_ “I will never forgive him. So long as I breathe I will hold him responsible for this. For you,” Draco snapped darkly.  _

_ Narcissa sighed, settling in further. Minutes turned into hours as Draco drank in his lucid mother, a silent wash of relief lulling him into a false sense of security. Four days and the screaming had stopped. She no longer pulled at her restraints like a wild beast.  _

_ Half of him was tempted to remove the charmed cuffs from her frail wrists, until she moved, until she gasped.  _

_ “Lucius?” she asked warily, pushing away from Draco. “Lucius?” Narcissa repeated, pulling at the chains. “Please… please don’t do this!” _

_ Draco jumped out of the bed, double-checking that he hadn’t brought his wand into the room.  _

_ “Lucius please!” Narcissa screamed, the sound ripping from her throat. “Don’t let him do this! You can’t let him do this!” _

_ “Mother,” Draco whispered, realizing he had lost her again.  _

_ “Let him take me! Spare Draco! You can’t let him take Draco!” Narcissa sat up, her small frame pulling against the bed as if she’d break in two.  _

_ “Draco will be fine,” he said softly, feeding into the delusion, trying to reassure her memories. It was a lie. He wouldn’t be fine, wasn’t  _ **_fine_ ** _. “He’s strong.” _

_ “He will break him!” Narcissa shrieked. “The pain will break him!” _

_ “I’m sorry,” Draco spoke the words his father should have.  _

_ “You coward!” she spat at him.“You weak coward!” _

_ “I know. I’m sorry.” _

_ “I hope he kills you! I hope that murderous bastard kills you! You and Bella!” _

_ “Me too.”  _

“Mate?” A soft knock came from the bedroom door, pulling him from his memories. Draco turned to see Theo standing in the doorway, dark circles under his eyes. “Almost seven.”

Draco looked to Hermione, whose color had slowly returned. Pulling her hand to his lips he kissed her knuckles softly before standing. “I should have owled for Daphne or the Weaselette or---”

“Good to know you’d owl my sister before myself, Draco,” Astoria’s voice came from the hallway as she pushed past Theo.

“You should be resting,” he warned her, watching her make herself comfortable in the room. 

“Nonsense. Blaise is joining you three. Daphne is having our elves pull the Nott heirlooms into our vaults in the event that you lot  _ do  _ manage to blow up the estate. I am exactly where I need to be to help.”

“Tori--”

“Enough. I’m quite fine here. Should anything happen I will call Sessy. She likes me more than she likes you anyway.”

“If she wakes--”

“I will send for you. Now go. Before Potter reigns that Chosen-One fury down upon us all.”

Draco eyed his ex-wife one last time before turning to follow Theo to the floo. 

Astoria settled in the chair beside Hermione, charming the chair with a cushion. “Well, you certainly are looking better,” she smiled fondly at the brunette. “I suppose you think me silly talking to you while you sleep but if experience has taught me anything it’s that you’re more lucid than you seem. Narcissa was proof of that,” she laughed, pulling a slender book from the bag she’d brought. 

“I’d like to read you a story if that’s okay. I don’t suppose you’d say no were you awake, the rabid bookworm that you are.” She sat back, cracking the bound book open. “It’s a lesser-known tale about twin French witches. Seemed appropriate considering the circumstances. I shall amend my will so this book gets to you. A person ought to know the history of the jewelry they wear.” 

* * *

Draco and Theo stepped out of the floo, seeing an impatient Harry staring at his watch. “7:15,” he said angrily. 

“And yet your pal Kingsley is nowhere to be found,” Draco bit. 

“ _ Minister Shacklebolt _ ,” Harry corrected him. “Decided to give you extra time considering how late we were all up.”

“That and I am brilliantly distracting,” Blaise grinned, walking into the foyer. 

“One word for it,” Harry mumbled.

“Surprised you came alone, Potter. Thought for sure you’d run off and tell the weasel we tried to off his ex.” 

_ Suppose he’d care if he weren’t passed out drunk,  _ Harry thought. “Thought it best to not have to lock up my best friend for assault or murder today.”

“Best friend still?” Draco’s brow arched. 

“Never you mind,” Harry’s brows furrowed. He turned to Theo. “Any idea where this cornerstone or whatever is?”

“Well, I’ve had a few thoughts about that but I don’t think you’ll like it,” the dark-haired man said wearily.

“Meaning?”

“Well, given what we know about these wards--”

“Their murderous intent towards half-bloods?” Blaise asked sarcastically. 

“That,” Theo pointed. “There’s a slight chance it might try to kill you,” he addressed Harry. “I mean your mother was--”

_ Muggle-born.  _ “Yeah,” Harry’s eyes narrowed in concern. “When you say  _ slight  _ chance?”

“Is this that Gryffindor bravery that nearly got you killed every school year?” Draco raised a brow. 

“Just because I don’t share your profound sense of self-preservation--”

“I have a theory,” Theo interrupted. “My ancestors were right gits. Truly. Worse than his,” he inclined his head to Draco. “They wouldn’t have wanted just anyone running through their home. Pureblood or not. My guess is they warded it against anyone outside the founding families.”

“Okay, but wait,” Blaise countered. “Weren’t you with Lovegood when everything went down last night?”

Images of Theo walking Luna through his mind, picking up on specific details of the woman as he remembered it. 

“Luna?” Harry’s brow arched causing Theo to blush. 

“Her mother was a Fawley,” Draco interjected. “Just like you’re technically an Avery through some obscure relation,” he looked to Blaise. 

“So you think I’m--” Harry began to ask impatiently, trying to steer the conversation back on course. 

“Technically by laws of succession you are descendant of the twenty-eight.”

“I am?”

“Merlin’s sake, Potter,” Draco exhaled dramatically. “Have you no idea that Black is a founding family?”

“Black?” Harry blinked.

“Did you or did you not inherit the mutt’s property and belongings?”

“Sirius?”

“I'd expect an Auror to understand how magical accession works, Potter,” Draco snapped, earning a glare from Harry.

“My theory is entirely speculative as I’ve no way of knowing if your parents and Sirius had the arrangement witnessed or not. I’m assuming so given your current residence but I don’t know that it’s enough considering that Sirius was disowned.” Theo explained.

“Current residence?” Harry asked.

“Grimmauld Place?” Draco rolled his eyes. 

“How’d--”

“Please,” the blond made a face. “If I had to hear the noseless bastard go on about it one more time--”

“He knew?” Harry’s eyes went wide. 

“Of course he did. Or did it also escape you that my mother and aunt are n é e Black?”

“You know,” Blaise smiled. “When you think about it you two are practically cousins,” he pointed between Harry and Draco.

“You’re right,” the same smile crept along Theo’s face. “Really though, if you trace back the Pervell family line we’re all technically related thanks to centuries of pureblood wife swap.”

Draco side-eyed Blaise. 

“That and the disregard for not marrying one’s cousin.”

“Okay, let me get this straight,” Harry shook his head. “You want me to step through a ward that may or may not kill me because my parents may or may not have had my godfather made official? And even then that may or may not work as Sirius was disowned?”

“Basically.”

Harry took a deep breath. “Alright. Let’s do this.”

“You’re all bloody idiots,” Draco pressed his fingers to his temple to put off the oncoming headache. “Call your elf, what was his name? Kreature? Not about to be responsible for killing you too.”

“Why?” Theo asked before Harry had the chance. 

“Why couldn’t Sessy get Granger out last night?” Draco held up his hands waiting for a reply.

“Dunno, mate.”

“Because Sessy is a free elf. Her magic isn’t tied in with an estate or a family.”

“Okay…”

Draco groaned, wishing he either had a drink or a comically large mallet. “Who got her out?” he asked, feeling as though he were baiting them to a realization.

“Bipsy,” Blaise answered. 

“Who?” Harry asked. 

“Astoria’s house-elf.”

“Bipsy is bound to the Greengrass’s. And since the three of us are no longer permitted a familial elf that leaves the one sod in this group who is,” his eyes fell on Harry. 

“Kreature,” Harry said, connecting the dots before the others. “He’s bound to the Blacks.”

“Ten points, Potter. Well done,” Draco drawled condescendingly.

“Think it will work?” Theo asked. 

“Better odds than hoping that we don’t kill two-thirds of the Golden Trio,” Blaise said lightly. 

“Kreature?” Harry called, the sour aged elf appearing less than a second later. He blinked, looking around slowly at the unlikely grouping of men. 

“Yes?” 

“I need you to be ready to disapparate me out of,” Harry paused, looking to Theo. “Where are we going”

Theo looked from one side of the foyer to the other. “Front sitting room? Worst case scenario if my theory doesn’t work we can pick you up and carry you back out into the hall.”

“Are you  _ guessing _ ?” Draco asked.

“Well, thing of the matter is I can only assume which rooms might be warded. The East Wing clearly is as that’s where you two ended up last night. Bedrooms upstairs of course. My father’s office. The sanctuary--”

“Sanctuary?” Harry’s head tilted. 

Theo nodded his head. “Pretty sure the cornerstone is in there. But it’s too far to safely carry you out worst-case scenario.”

“And where’s that?”

“Through the uh… basement.”

Harry’s face tensed. “No chance your  _ basement _ happens to be a prison?” He looked to Draco. 

An involuntary laugh escaped Blaise, all eyes landing on him. “Sorry,” he smiled. “But can we all just admit how ridiculous this is? Potter and Malfoy on a mission to destroy a curse to save Granger by traipsing through the Nott’s personal abattoir?”

“Come again?” Harry asked. 

“Draco’s right. You really should study family histories,” Blaise tried to suppress his laughter, Theo’s face having gone white.

“As funny,” Harry eyed Blaise, “as this all is we really should get a move on. Which way to the basement?”

“Passage is under the ballroom,” Theo swallowed, turning on his heel towards it. He paused briefly. “Keep Kreature around, yeah?”

Harry looked to the elf and motioned for him to follow Theo, Blaise, and Draco following them.

Draco was surprised to see the room clean, knowing Theo must have returned to do just that when he was sitting with Hermione. Stopping at the center of the room Theo pulled his wand, pressing the tip to the middle of the intricate design of the floor. The floor opened up, revealing a wide circular staircase leading down. 

“You shouldn’t hit a ward until we reach the altar. I think,” he paused, his blue eyes dark. “There’s a bridge just before it and… you’ll… you’ll see.” Theo began to descend the steps, torches flickering to life as he went.

“This is a bad place,” Kreature warned as he followed Harry down below the floor.

“If your ancestors were so picky about who they let into their home why wouldn’t they have warded the entire thing?” Harry asked.

“Before we explore the Nott family history and how it reflects on ancient wizarding society I would like to point out that my family immigrated  _ after _ the Ministry was founded and laws were made,” Blaise’s voice echoed off the stone.

“Right, because your family didn’t have a role during the Crusades?” Draco shot back at him. 

“I’d hardly compare a holy war with muggle murder-auctions and other genocidal practices,” Blaise scoffed. 

Harry stopped mid-step, Theo turning to look at him in the dim lighting. “Muggle what now?”

“The reason parts of the estate aren’t warded is that my ancestors had to  _ drive _ muggles through here.”

“Drive them?” 

“Like cattle,” Theo winced. “To slaughter.”

_ Bloody Death Eaters.  _ Harry’s face dropped. “I take it this sanctuary isn’t some  _ holy _ place?” he asked, pulling his wand reflexively, holding it tightly at his side.

“Depends on your definitions of religion,” Blaise interjected.

“I need you to understand that the room hasn’t been  _ utilized _ since the twelfth century,” Theo shot a glare up at Blaise. “At least. Maybe longer.”

“Utilized how?” Harry asked with an edge to his voice. 

“My ancestors made their fortune capturing, torturing, and auctioning muggles,” he blurted out, embarrassment seizing his face. “There used to be an entire city on the estate grounds, not that you’d ever find evidence of it.”

“That’s--” Harry stopped himself, a shudder running through him. “There are no words.”

“I’m not particularly proud of it,” Theo tried to defend himself. “Neither was my father for that matter, so that’s really saying something.”

“I’d be worried if you were.”  _ And here I thought Theo was the sensible one of the lot…  _

The group continued on in silence, making their way to the bottom of the stairwell. The room lit up all at once, Draco noting Harry practically flinch, undoubtedly expecting to see corpses littering the space. Instead, they were met with a rather large, excessively sterile square stone room; a singular wood-slat door at the far end. 

“That the  _ sanctuary _ ?” Harry asked the obvious. 

“Dark things behind that,” Kreature cautioned again. 

“The entrance,” Theo nodded grimly, his fists balling. Collecting himself his brows drew together before moving to cross the room. Pointing his wand at the center of it he recited an incantation Draco had only heard the handful of times they used to sneak into the place, satisfying their morbid curiosity as children.

Harry peered through the now-open door seeing a natural stone cavern, wet limestone leading down.

“Watch your step,” Theo warned, taking the lead yet again. 

Draco saw Harry look back at him, then to Kreature who was almost hesitant to enter the cave. “Wasn’t just muggles,” Draco commented, inclining his head to the elf. Harry’s eyes darkened as he turned, his unruly hair disappearing into the depths. 

“So,” Blaise held back, letting the group ahead of them get out of earshot. ‘Figure out how you’re going to break the news to Granger? Her being a Malfoy now?”

Draco studied him, silver eyes weighing his ex-wife’s now-husband before visibly relaxing. “Is there any good way to explain it? ‘Nearly killed you trying to disapparate away from my crazed ex. Good news though, you’re officially a Malfoy heir,’?” Draco mocked the rehearsed speech.

“Heiress,” Blaise corrected him. “And how  _ does  _ that work? Astoria explained it a couple of times but I’d thought there was more to it than just popping your ring on her finger and throwing out a spell.”

“Not really,” Draco said. “Traditionally if the ring isn't being offered to a direct descendant then it is used in a wedding ceremony. Pop the incantation into the exchanging of vows and the bride is protected both magically and legally.”

“But because it wasn’t a legal wedding…”

“Magically she’s a Malfoy, legally she’s still a Granger.” Draco stepped through the threshold into the narrow passageway, the weight of the magic in the air pulling at him. 

“Hah!” Blaise laughed so hard it echoed off of the cavern walls as he followed. “She’s gonna hex you and your entire ancestral line! Wait, so does this mean she can access those famed vaults of yours?”

“Yes,” Draco ground out. “The estates as well.”

“Okay, okay, okay,” Blaise kept laughing. “So your Aunt Bella’s estate is technically yours now right? But now that you went and magically married Granger--”

“Yes,” Draco hissed, turning on Blaise. “She has access to it all. My manor, the Lestrange Estate, Severus’ family home, even the wineries in France. All of it. Everything I’ve inherited.”

“Well that is a poetic sense of justice I suppose,” Blaise grinned. “Think she’ll hyphenate the surname?”

“Knock it off before Potter hears you, yeah?” Draco shot him a look. 

The two finally caught up with Theo and Harry, who’d stopped dead just short of the altar which sat in the center of an island surrounded by a luminescent crack in the earth, a singular bridge leading to it. 

“It’s a chopping block,” Harry said, the disgust thick in his voice. Draco looked across to the altar, noting the centuries-old blood stained into the stone. 

“There was a belief held amongst the older families--” Theo began.

“Not mine,” Blaise interrupted. 

“Yours doesn’t count,” Draco snapped.

_ Git _ , Blaise thought. 

“That sacrifice would grant power,” Theo continued. “And as the founding families didn’t want to sacrifice one another--”

“At the time,” Blaise interrupted again.

“Do shut up?” Draco glared at him. 

“The families sacrificed muggles, elves, goblins… pretty much anything they thought would do the trick.”

“They were wrong of course,” Blaise said.

“Clearly,” Draco drawled, noting just how similar it sounded to his own godfather, the man on his mind as he ran through the list of properties he’d somehow come to inherit since the end of the war. 

“The sacrifices stopped, our families realizing it was ineffective. But it doesn’t change the corruption that founded Wizarding England.”

Harry blinked, trying to process it all. “So why is everything glowing?” he asked at last. 

“Ley lines,” Draco answered, stepping out onto the bridge. “Or are you going to tell me you haven’t studied those either?”

“Been a bit busy defeating dark wizards and hunting down death eaters,” Harry retorted, earning a snicker out of Blaise as he followed Draco onto the island. 

“All of the Wizarding schools were built on one. Most of the founding estates as well. You find them all over the place if you know where to look,” Theo said, reluctantly putting one foot out onto the bridge. Flexing his hands twice he forced himself forward. 

“You going to be okay?” Draco asked Theo. 

“Let’s just get this over with,” Theo went straight for the altar, wand poised towards it.

“Theo,” Blaise eyed him. “If you knew the cornerstone would be down here and that destroying it would bring the house down…?”

“I’d hoped to never have to come back down here,” Theo said darkly. He glanced up to Harry who was still on the other side of the bridge. “Coming?”

Harry took a deep breath, glancing down at Kreature before setting foot onto the bridge. Nearly as slowly as Theo had crossed Harry took it one step at a time, fear that the theories on his inherited blood status were just that, theories.

Both feet firmly planted on the island he looked up to the three other men, anxiety written on their face. “Alright then,” Harry exhaled. 

“Kreature?” Theo spoke up. “Could you pop up and find Daphne? Tell her to clear out of the house if she hasn’t already?”

Kreature looked from Theo to Harry, Harry nodding. With a pop the elf vanished. 

“You think it's inside the altar?” Draco asked, looking at it apprehensively. 

“It would stand to reason,” Theo shrugged. “Oldest thing on this property.”

“Have you any idea how to destroy it?”

Theo shook his head. 

“What I’d give for that sword now,” Harry mused just loud enough for the others to hear him. “Nevermind.”

“Well, start with the basics. Work our way up, yeah?” Blaise pulled his wand.

Kreature popped back. “House is empty.”

“Right,” Theo exhaled, his eyes locked on the altar. 

“Theo,” Draco looked to him. “If it weren’t Granger…”

“I know. It’s fine. Really. This is what I wanted right?” he gave an unconvincing smile. 

“You are a Nott,” silver eyes narrowed. “With or without the estate.”

“I don’t know why I care,” he shook his head. “Every shit memory I have is here.”

“A lot of good ones too,” Blaise said softly. 

“I can make new ones with you arseholes,” Theo smirked. “But this was her home.  _ She _ had memories here.” 

Flashes of Theo’s memories of his mother’s paintings came to the forefront of his mind. 

“Daph got her portrait out I’m sure,” Draco tried to comfort him. 

“She did,” he nodded.

“Think she’d be happier in your new home. Watch you make a life for yourself. Start a family.”

“No, I know. She would. This is stupid,” he laughed. “Everything I hate about who I am was taught to me,  _ beaten  _ into me here. And that son of a bitch… one day he’ll get out. I know it. He’ll get out and come back here. Claim his title once again.”

“Life sentences,” Draco reminded him. 

Theo shot Draco a look. “Because historically that has stopped our families?” He turned, facing the altar one last time. “I have to do this. Everything that has happened in this place… it ends here. With me.” Theo raised his wand. “Count of three?”

Three more wands raised, pointed at the bloodsoaked stone. “One,” Theo started.

“Two,” Blaise, twisted his wrist.

“Three,” Draco breathed out. 

“REDUCTO!” the four wizards shouted, the altar blasting apart in an explosive storm. Draco threw up a quick shield as chunks and fragments of ancient stone blasted throughout the subterranean cave, protecting himself and Harry who was simply ducking the rubble.

After the dust settled the four men all looked to one another. 

“Couldn’t have been  _ that  _ simple?” Blaise asked. 

Theo stepped to where the altar had once stood. “Maybe I was wrong?”

The ground beneath their feet shook. 

“Don’t think so,” Harry said, bracing himself. In a far corner, limestone began to crack, a stalactite splitting to crash to the ground below. “Krea--” he began, cut off by a deafening roar; mightier than any wind, louder than any tidal wave. The sound forced the men to their knees, hands on their ears to try to dampen the drum-piercing sound. 

Draco tried and failed to disapparate, the same feeling of hopelessness washing over him as it had the night before. 

_ You did this _ , a familiar voice echoed in his head, the accompanying screams filled Draco with dread.  _ You let her die. You were careless… reckless… it's all your fault.  _

“NO!” Draco shut his eyes. 

_ Had you just turned them in, given them to the Dark Lord, none of this would have happened. She would still be alive.  _

More voices accompanied the screaming, the cave imploding bit by bit as the earth shook. Theo, Harry, and Blaise all shouted, fending off their own demons.

_ He could have fixed her… fixed you. You wouldn’t have had to suffer. _

Magic weighed down on them all, pushing them to the floor of the cave, unable to raise their wands. 

_ You killed her.  _

“NO!” The word was ripped from his throat. 

_ Murderer! _

“NO!” 

_ It was your wand! Your wand in her hand!  _

“SHE KILLED HERSELF!” 

Draco gasped, his eyes opening to daylight. Flat on his back he stared up at the sky, Kreature looking down at him. The ground continued to shake but the sound had died. He sat upright, nausea hitting him all at once as oxygen flooded his system. Still on the Nott property, the estate began to fall apart, a low rumble from a distance. 

Theo sat up beside him, watching his childhood home fall into the earth. 

“What,” Harry began, “in the bloody hell was that?”

“Did anyone else hear that voice?” Blaise asked, sticking his pinky in his ear to combat the persistent ringing.

“Yes,” Draco and Theo said simultaneously, watching the last of the house crash into a pile of ash and dust. 

_ My mother…  _ Theo’s thoughts revealed who had been speaking to him.

“Is there a  _ reason  _ voices would have been inside my head just now?” Harry asked, unable to get Severus’s voice out of his head, the memory of it familiar to Draco. 

He shook the cold out of his bones, the feeling of dread lingering as the house fell. Clearly it hadn’t wanted to go down, the altar containing all of the magic that held its revered walls up. It occurred to him that had it not been for Kreature they’d all have been buried beneath centuries of dark magic and hatred.

The dust settled and the rumbling stopped, Nott Estate officially destroyed. 

“Question,” Harry stood, first to his feet. “Does every pureblood family have a Cave of Nightmares under their manor?” 

“Mine’s in the attic,” Blaise said dryly. 

“My entire house is a nightmare,” Draco gritted, standing to help Theo up. 

“Explains why the ministry didn’t fight to seize them,” Harry shook his head, surveying the damage they had done.

“Well, that and the cost of upkeep. You wouldn’t believe what it takes to give a manor that ‘haunted’ aesthetic,” Blaise grinned. 

“You okay?” Draco asked Theo, ignoring Blaise’s sarcasm.

“I will be.”

“Theo,” he warned his friend. 

“Just… give me time. Yeah?”

“Sure,” the blond cast him a sympathetic smile. “You’re free to crash at the hotel until--”

“We need to get back to Hermione,” Harry cut them off. “Assuming that whatever  _ that _ was is what cursed her…” 

Draco looked to Theo. “You guys go. I need to catch up to Daphne.”

“Kreature?” Harry looked down at the elf who seemed completely unphased by the events. 

Grumbling he took Harry and Draco’s hand, the three disappearing in an instant. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it's not clear by now I might as well tell you... everyone's fucked up in this lol The scars aren't always physical or visible. Believe me when I say we will be exploring almost everyone's. Mostly bc I have no self-control or sense of how to limit word count lol 
> 
> Fun story: this whole fic was supposed to be three chapters. Y'all can blame my favoritest idea-bouncer/beta/devil on my shoulder @arista_raven for it never ending lol seriously though, nine chapters and were only part of the way through the first arc... like I said, no self-control.


	10. Curses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione feels... off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to start off by apologizing to everyone who has been waiting for an update. I cannot begin to explain the chaos that 2020 has brought down on my household. Eight months is a long time to sit on a cliffhanger, and for that, I am immensely apologetic. All I can do is try to move forward with the story <3 Thank you for sticking around!

✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵

**In an unexpected turn of events, Nott Estate imploded on itself in the early hours of the morning. Having just been the site of the highly anticipated hedonistic themed masquerade ball mere hours before the mansion's destruction, authorities are quick to question foul play. Mr. Nott [Theodore] was unavailable for questions leaving this reporter to draw her own conclusions. Insurance scam? Poor attempt at erasing his family's seedier past? Perhaps a prank gone awry? Me, myself, and I want to know.**

* * *

If there was one thing Hermione was absolutely sure of, it was the feeling of dark magic. It held a signature all its own; weak or strong, the trace always felt  _ wrong _ . Foreign magic seeped deep into her essence as her eyes slowly opened, general fatigue flooding her system as her mind processed the probabilities of what happened.

_ A curse. _

It hadn’t been the first time she’d woken up after being hit by one, though nine times out of ten it was in a hospital bed surrounded by colleagues. Not in Draco Malfoy’s hotel room with a slumbering Astoria at her bedside. Before she could think to speak, the crack of apparation woke the blonde with a small start.

“‘Mione?” She heard Harry’s frantic voice as footsteps sprinted towards the bedroom. He and Draco burst through the door, hair disheveled and covered in ash.

“What happened?” she asked, her throat sore as she attempted and failed to sit up.

“It was my fau--” Draco began.

“Nott’s bloody batshit ancestors,” Harry cut him off, stepping in front of the blond. 

Draco shook his head. “I should have known. I didn’t mean--”

“We blew it up,” Harry interrupted him once more. 

“Blew  _ what  _ up?” Hermione and Astoria asked simultaneously.

“Nott Estate,” Harry answered, cautiously stepping toward her. “How do you feel?”

“Like I’ve been cursed,” she said flatly, eyes darting between the two men. “What do you mean you  _ blew up _ Nott Estate?”

“To break the curse, er,” he cleared his throat. “I think.”

“You think?”

“Malfoy?” Harry turned back toward the blond, looking for an explanation. 

“You’re awake so…” Draco paused, his eyes dropping to her hands before narrowing. “How do you feel?” he repeated Harry’s question, his tone cool. 

Hermione inhaled, settling her rampant questions. “Draco,” she said as calmly as she could manage, an odd echo of his name in the back of her mind. “A word?” Harry’s face dropped, looking as though he’d been slapped. “Just, give us a minute? Please?”

“Yeah. Sure,” Harry spun, stopping to glare at Draco. 

Beside Hermione, Astoria stood, quietly making her way to the door. “We  _ will  _ talk after this,” Draco’s silver eyes flashed as his ex-wife passed by him. She hesitated, glancing back at Hermione with a kind smile before disappearing into the hallway.

Hermione sank back into the bed, pulling the blankets up around her. “Silence?”

Draco pulled his wand and silently cast a charm over the room before sitting on the edge of the bed. “I am so, incredibly, sorry--”

“What happened?”

“The wards in Theo’s house… when I apparated, I wasn’t thinking,” he sat, running his hands through his hair. “Fucking pureblood--”

“I died,” she said abruptly, accepting it as fact.

His head snapped up, eyes bloodshot with wary and strain. “No.”

“Nearly, though?”

He exhaled. “Very nearly.”

“So you blew up the estate?” she asked in disbelief.

“Seemed like a good idea,” he laughed without enthusiasm. “We were quite certain his wards were tied to the cornerstone.”

“I’ve been cursed before,” Hermione paused. “This is  _ different _ . My magic feels… different.”

Draco twirled his wand in his fingers before holding it out for Hermione to take. “Here.”

“What?”

“Take it.”

“Draco--”

“You’ll need it to hex me.”

Hermione reached hesitantly, taking hold of the cool wood. She felt her magic rush to it, humming in familiarity. “What did you  _ do _ ?” she asked quietly, the idea of hexing him somehow tempting.

“I tried to disapparate out; the wards kept you. Pretty sure I gave you a concussion in the process. You’d stopped thinking… stopped breathing… I only meant to stop the curse… and my signet,” Draco’s eyes trained on hers. “I made the ring recognize you. So that the wards would recognize you.”

“Ring? What ring?”

“On your left.”

The second her eyes fell, she felt it, the weight of the unseen on her hand. Casting a quick disillusionment, the Malfoy signet presented itself. Hermione’s brows furrowed as she tried to make sense of what he had just confessed. She felt the ring pulse around her finger, warm and welcoming as though it  _ belonged. _

“Tori’s doctor… he told us how it’s siphoning residual magics out of you. I can send for him if you’d like.”

“Residual magic?”

“Dark magic. Curses,” Draco swallowed. “Traces of Cruciatus.”

Hermione remained silent, her eyes transfixed on the ring. The pulse matched her heartbeat she quickly realized, subtle but persistent as though the ring were living. She knew she should have felt the familiar stab of panic that came with mentions of the Cruicartus; instead, the pulsing rhythm kept her calm, sedated almost.

“Its magic is tied to yours now,” he explained. “It was designed to counter curses.”

“Clever.”

“I couldn’t let you die.”

Hermione looked up, twiddling his wand in her hand. “Suppose I can’t fault you for that.”

“There’s more--”

“How many people know?” she cut him off. 

“I’m sorry?”

“How many people know about this?” Hermione asked, eyes darting back to the ring.

“Potter knows, if that’s what you’re asking. Positive it’s the only reason he didn’t turn me in to the Ministry last night.”

With a deep breath, she handed the wand back to him, oddly at ease with everything that had happened. “Come to the ball with me.”

“What?”

“I can’t  _ not  _ go,” she explained. “I had a wonderful time last night. What I can remember of it anyway.” 

“You almost died,” Draco said defensively, his brows furrowing.

“Nearly,” she corrected him. 

“I need to fetch the doctor--”

“I refuse to give people reason to talk.”

“If this is about the weasel,” he warned.

“I can’t have gone to a party at the Nott Estate and then not attend the event I am expected to speak at.”

“No one would--”

“We were photographed together. At a Death Eater’s estate.”

“Theo is  _ not _ \--”

“Nott Sr.” Hermione held a finger up. “ _ After _ nearly dueling with your ex-fling,” she exhaled, noting the hint of jealousy in her voice. While she could remember the events that had led her to where she lay, she hadn’t forgotten Pansy’s words.  _ What about everything you said last month? All of the things you promised me when I was lying in your bed? _ “It would raise questions. More so now that you’ve gone and  _ blown  _ the place up.”

“I tell you how I nearly got you killed--”

“And then saved me,” she cut him off.

“And you’re worried about  _ optics _ ?”

“It’s not enough that I should make headlines twice now, but you’d ask me to make it a third?”

Draco paused. “No. At least let the doctor check you over?”

A faint smile spread across her face. “Awfully worried, aren’t you?” she teased.

“For someone who’s watched you nearly die twice now…” he trailed off, letting the meaning of his words hang in the air. 

Hermione reached out, taking his hand in a weak grip. “Draco.”

“The ring--”

“Enough,” her brows furrowed with a pleading look. “Please? You only have a day left on your pass. I intend to return to Australia day after next. I’d like to enjoy what time I have left. With you, if that’s quite alright. I’d like to not become a conversation piece yet again. I don’t know how much more I can handle right now.”

“You’re impossible,” he shook his head in disbelief. Hermione reached for the ring, giving it a slight tug before a cold chill ran through her body, her vision going dark. “No,” he reached out, stopping her. “Leave it.”

“I don’t know that me running around with the Malfoy signet on my ring finger sends the best message,” she laughed.

“Here,” Draco leaned forward, transfiguring the ring into something more elegant, the Malfoy M disappearing. A slender silver band circled her finger. “I’ve worn this most of my life now. I can tell you from personal experience it takes time to work.” He ran his thumb over the ring before squeezing her hand to let go. 

Hermione’s eyes narrowed in question, curious how much time it would take given the number of curses she’d been hit with in her career. Questions led to more questions, an uneasy feeling creeping in. Pushing it all aside, she decided to focus on what she could handle at the moment. “Can we eat?”

“Only if you agree to let the doctor see you.”

“Who’s impossible now?” Hermione countered.

Draco stood, countering his silencing charm. “Waffles?” 

“Please.”

He paused, staring down at her. “For what it’s worth, I truly am sorry. I’d only meant to whisk you away to his library. Bend you over in the stacks as it were.”

“The books,” Hermione gasped. “You blew up the books!”

“Saved the books,” Harry called from the hallway.

“And all of the intolerant priceless art,” Draco added with a smirk. “I’m calling the doctor,” he said before spinning on his heel to leave.

“Fine.”

“And buying you a dress.”

“No!” she objected, Harry entering as Draco left. 

Stowing his wand, he stepped down the hallway toward the hotel’s kitchen, unsurprised to find Astoria. “Draco--”

“How  _ dare  _ you,” he seethed, eyes flashing. “It’s not enough that I nearly get her killed, but you take it upon yourself to hide--”

“I was buying you time,” Astoria pleaded.

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. “She would have figured it out. Brightest witch, and all.”

“You told her.”

“As much as she would let me,” he inhaled, reaching for the room service menu. “The ring is hers. It will heal and protect her. Maybe undo a fraction of the trauma my aunt caused her.”

“She doesn’t know what it  _ means _ , does she?”

“And she won’t. Not unless she asks.”

“Potter will tell her,” Astoria’s expression hardened.

“Potter knows  _ nothing  _ about these things. Forgot he was a Black for Merlin’s sake.”

“And when she figures it out?” she pushed.

“It  _ means _ nothing unless she consents, unless she returns the vows. The magic will do its job either way.”

“You sound so certain.”

“I have to trust that the magic knew my intent.”

“And if it was to marry her?”

“Two days together is hardly a make. Whatever this is between us ends tonight.”

“I  _ know  _ you, Draco. The second you decide something, it’s final.”

“Didn’t work with you, now did it?” he spat, hating himself for saying it. “I’m sorry.”

“No. You’re right,” Astoria said calmly, her face void of emotion. “I should go.”

“Tori,” Draco reached out, taking her hand. “I didn’t mean--”

“You did. But it’s alright. Will I see you both tonight?”

“She’s determined to go.”

“Then I should send Daphne over.”

“I love you,” Draco said, squeezing her hand.

“And I you,” she smiled weakly before heading toward the floor. 

* * *

“How are you?” Harry asked, sitting on the edge is the bed where Draco had been. 

Hermione smacked his arm with the back of her hand. “You  _ blew up  _ Nott Estate?” she seethed, smacking him again.

“Ow!  _ How  _ do you hit so much harder than Ginny?”

“I cannot believe you! Do you know how much history you just destroyed?”

“Bigoted, awful, history. You should have seen—”

“It doesn’t matter,” she scoffed. “The things I could have  _ learned _ …”

“They  _ sacrificed  _ Muggles there,” Harry snapped, silencing her. “It was a bad place. A very evil, very bad place. Even Kreature thought so.”

“Kreature?”

“Something about magical succession and me being a Black through Sirius. We weren’t sure whether or not I’d be able to disapparate out, so Draco suggested I have Kreature—”

“Pervell,” Hermione cut him off with a nod.

“What?”

“Your father’s family line traces back to the Peverell brothers. How else did you think you inherited that cloak?”

Harry’s mouth snapped shut. “Hadn’t thought of that really.”

“Of course, you haven’t. That’s why I took the time to map out your ancestry some time back. I have a copy if you’d like.”

“Another time, yeah?” He sighed. “You have no idea how scared I was.”

“I can handle myself, Harry.”

“You nearly got yourself killed.”

“It was an accident.”

“Malfoy—”

“It wasn’t his fault,” Hermione protested. “If anything, it was mine. I should have remembered where I was. I was just… caught up with everything.”

“Snogging in the closet, you mean?”

“What of it?” she laughed. “Honestly up to that point, the night was perfect. He took me to a bookstore.”

“I always forget how much of a bookworm he is.”

“Is not,” she smacked at him. “How would you know, anyway?”

“Spent years watching him. He reads almost as much as you do.”

“Point is, this was all an accident. I’m perfectly fine.”

“Are you, though?” 

“Honestly, I feel better than I have in some time,” she answered, twisting the ring on her finger. “Starving.”

A knock on the door drew their attention. “Staying for breakfast, Potter?”

Harry shook his head. “I need to get to the Ministry. Sort things. I expect some officials will be by to get statements from both of you.”

“Great,” Draco bit sarcastically.

Harry leaned forward, kissing Hermione on the forehead. “I’ll come up with something clever for tonight--”

“Clever?”

“To explain why you couldn’t make it.” Harry explained cautiously.

“I’m going.  _ We’re  _ going,” Hermione motioned to Draco. Harry shot her a look. “I’m going,” she said with finality.

He glanced back at Draco, who simply shrugged. “Alright,” he sighed. “Like I’ve ever been able to talk you out of anything.”

“Quite confident you have that backward,” she laughed softly.

“You’re probably right,” Harry stood. “I will have to come up with something to tell Gin here soon, though. She was looking forward to lunch.”

“Lunch!” Hermione gasped. “I’d forgotten.”

“We can reschedule. Maybe convince Molly to take Albus for a weekend? Come visit?”

“No,” she shook her head. “I mean, yes. That would be wonderful. But we should still do lunch today.”

“You’re not going anywhere until the doctor has looked you over,” Draco nearly growled.

“We’ll do it here, then,” Hermione said, attempting to sit up further. “If that’s okay?” She looked to Draco with pleading eyes.

He rolled his with an amused smirk Harry couldn’t see. “Potter, would you and the weaselette care to have a  _ late  _ lunch here? Restaurant downstairs serves a particularly excellent wagyu.”

“Love to,” Harry chirped, knowing it would irritate Draco. “It’ll give me time to file my reports.”

“Do run along before the entire Auror department storms the hotel then, would you?”

Harry gave Hermione a kind smile before turning to leave. “Malfoy.”

“Potter.”

“Breakfast?” she asked Draco expectantly.

“Ordered. You should take a shower.”

“Says the man covered in debris,” her brow arched.

“I can shower later,” he smirked, leaning against the doorway.

“Or you can shower with me,” Hermione suggested with a coy smile. “You’ve been trying to get me in there all weekend.”

“That was before.”

“Before what? Nothing has changed. This isn’t the first time I’ve been hit with a curse, and I can guarantee it won’t be the last. Don’t let one small brush with death put you off of all those devious thoughts.”

“Devious?”

“Ignominious.”

“Good to know a knock to the head hasn’t damaged that inner thesaurus of yours.”

Hermione laughed, attempting to stand up. “Shame about the dress.”

“It was being ripped off of you one way or another,” Draco said, helping her to her feet. Taking a few steps forward, she stumbled, Draco keeping her upright. “A bath, I think.”

Draco sat her on the toilet seat, turning handles to fill the oversized tub. Grabbing the complimentary soaps, he poured them in, letting the waters bubble and froth. Helping Hermione stand once more, he slipped her out of the silk pajamas Astoria had transfigured onto her, guiding her into the water. 

“Too hot?” he asked, letting her sink in.

“It’s perfect,” she hummed happily, the bubbles touching her chin. Dispelling his ruined tux from the night before, he slipped in behind her, dirt and blood rising to the surface of the water. “Did you hurt yourself?”

Draco swallowed. “That’s your blood,” he said softly, running his fingers over the faint silver line from where he had spliced her. Grabbing a soft sponge, he began to wash it over her shoulders, pulling her wild hair aside.

“Draco?” Hermione said after a moment’s pause.

“Hm?”

“Harry said we were snogging in a closet?”

He froze, realizing for the first time that she didn’t remember. “Nearly.” She remained silent as he reached for shampoo, wetting her curls before lathering them. 

“Oh,” was all she could think to say as he massaged his fingers into her scalp. She let him wash her hair, whisper-quiet incantations escaping his lips as he eased all of her minor aches and pains. 

Hermione couldn’t remember a time where her nerves hadn’t felt shot, the ever constant dull static in her fingers and toes reminding her of the curses inflicted on her. For the first time since Malfoy Manor, she could flex her hands without thinking of Bellatrix.

“The ring,” she began, her head rolling to the side as he conditioned her curls. “How does it work?” Draco stilled behind her. “Does it only remove certain curses?”

He inhaled. “It couldn’t have cured Astoria’s blood curse as she was born with it,” he answered.

“So a curse would have to be direct then?”

He nodded. “Depending on severity. When Potter attacked me in sixth, it was the ring and Severus that saved me. I imagine it has also spared me a lot of what you’ve felt these past years,” he said quietly. 

_ I doubt Voldemort was a great flatmate…  _ Hermione thought in silence, Draco unconsciously shuddering at the name. 

“Can you feel a difference?”

She bit her lip. “I feel less anxious. Less jittery.” 

“The Cruciartus directly attacks the nervous system. Fraying endings. Similar results have been produced with electroshock.”

Hermione turned in the tub, wrapping her arms around his neck. “You studied this?”

“Wrote a thesis paper on it, actually. Victims of torture. Prisoners of war. Left out the genocidal dark wizard, of course.”

“Right.”

“Assuming Tori’s doctor was right in saying that it was absorbing the dark magic, then it’s possible that it’s reversing the side effects as well.”

“Handy bit of jewelry to have,” she smiled. “I’ll be sure to owl it back once it’s done doing whatever it’s doing.”

Draco’s face hardened. “It’s yours.”

“It’s your family’s signet. I couldn’t possibly—”

“The spell I cast… it can’t be  _ undone.  _ Once given, it cannot be taken back.”

Hermione frowned. “Your future wife then—”

His eyes darted away. “It’s better it finds a new family. A new legacy. It wasn’t meant to be what my forefathers turned it into.”

Hermione’s lips pursed together, but she said nothing. A knock came from the hotel door, giving Draco a chance to escape the conversation. Transfiguring the plush bathrobe into a smaller size, he ensured towels were within her grasp before dressing himself.

Hermione sank down in the bubbles, rinsing her conditioner out as she unpacked the entirety of her weekend. From fights with Ron to bookstores in France, her near-death experience was little more than a blip in perspective. The troubling thing was that it should have felt heavier. She’d barely been able to get through a speech but somehow nearly dying because a house was determined to kill her seemed inconsequential. 

She should have been a wreck. Instead, she felt… free. 


End file.
